Beast Within (Loup-Garou Series Book 3)

by Sheritta Bitikofer

  Another thing she now noticed was that his hair was different. His blonde highlights were gone, and his hair was completely black now. Not only that, but he had cut off his ponytail. Now, his hair was as short as Dustin’s but had a sheen as if he had styled it. Covertly sniffing the air, she found this to be true. The traces of hair gel and dye were certainly there. He must have done it while she was sleeping.

  Logan must have done it to help their escape. The hunters would be on the lookout for unique hair like Logan’s and the more change to it, the better off they were. Katey was not displeased with the change, but she wondered if she needed to cut her own hair to maintain the disguise. She reached up and touched the tip of a strand that draped over her shoulder and regretted the thought. She loved her hair too much to cut it shorter.

  “We’re going to Louisiana to find Michael. Do the vamps know where he is?” Logan asked.

  “They said New Orleans, but I told them we were going north instead… I need to call Jacob.”

  Their eyes met, and Katey nodded, answering his unspoken question. Yes, Darren knew what happened.

  “I wish I could tell you that I could pick up Jacob’s scent last night, but I didn’t get a chance. We were chased off before I could pick up a definite trail.”

  “That’s fine, Logan.” Darren cleared his throat. “If the safe house has been compromised, then we’ll go to Louisiana too. Charge your phone and let us know when you get there.”

  Before Darren had a chance to hang up, Logan asked, “Were any families in town hit?”

  Another voice, Dustin’s, chimed in. “According to the vamps, no one was killed. A few houses were burned. The reports are saying it was a gas explosion, but the vamps were there and saw the hunters set fire to the place.”

  Katey crossed her arms over her stomach. “They burned the safe house too. Why would they burn anything?”

  Logan grimaced. “Maybe they thought someone was inside at the time.”

  She shivered and tried hard not to place herself in the shoes of someone who was about to be burned alive. She couldn’t conceive why anyone would want someone to suffer such a traumatic end. Yet, from what she had heard and witnessed, hunters seemed even less human than loups-garous when it came to brutality.

  “Those families are leaving town,” Darren said. “We’ll inform the vamps to not take them north. There’s another safe house compound in Georgia. With luck, that’s where any survivors might have gone after the attack in Alabama.”

  Logan nodded but said nothing as his eyes drifted shut.

  Katey moved forward and sat on the bed next to Logan. “He’s falling asleep, Darren.”

  “You two get some rest. We’ll see you in Louisiana.”

  Logan’s eyes popped open. “Got it. We’ll be in touch.” With that, he ended the call and rubbed at his face with both palms.

  “You should get some sleep.”

  He grumbled something intelligible and then stood up. His body swayed for a second as if he were drunk, and then crouched down by the plastic grocery bags on the floor. He pulled out a package containing a charger cord and a handful of packets of jerky.

  “I couldn’t find a real store anywhere close, but there was a convenience store at a gas station down the road, and it had some things.”

  The other bag contained water bottles that he stuffed into the duffel bag, but he kept two out for them to drink soon. It wasn’t until she saw the jerky that she realized how hungry she truly was. With her stomach growling, she tore open a pack and shoved a few pieces in her mouth with as much grace as a starving animal.

  When she looked up, Logan was still crouched on the ground, one palm pressed against his forehead as if it hurt. Forgetting her hunger again, Katey tossed aside the bag and lifted Logan to his feet. “Logan, please. You need to get some sleep before we have to leave again.”

  Logan plopped onto the bed and looked at Katey, his blue eyes even more striking against his new hair. If they weren’t so bloodshot, Katey might have thought them more beautiful. She reached up and weaved her fingers through the short locks of hair that were stiffened and chilled by the gel.

  “I wanted to get you some hair dye, but they didn’t have any at the store.”

  She shook her head and smiled. “It’s fine. We can dye it in Louisiana if you’re that concerned.”

  Logan pulled her hand away from his head and held it between his palms, focusing all his attention on how he held it and rubbed her skin with the utmost care and tenderness. “I didn’t want to leave you here alone,” he mumbled his reddened eyes closing again.

  “I wish your phone hadn’t died,” Katey replied, watching how his hands sandwiched hers. “I was worried something had happened to you.”

  Logan took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He lazily looked around. “I need to get my phone charged.”

  Katey leaned over and grabbed the package. Using her teeth, she tore open the hard plastic top, something scissors or a pocket knife would have been more equipped to do. The sharp edge cut open her lip, but she barely felt the sting.

  “Didn’t any of your foster parents teach you not to do that?” Logan remarked as he released her hands and pulled out his phone.

  Katey unwound the cord and presented the charger to him. “If they did, I probably wasn’t listening anyway.”

  A faint smile crossed Logan’s lips as he took it and leaned over the bed to plug the charger into an outlet behind one of the nightstands. When Logan returned, his gaze fell on her bleeding lip. The cut had already healed, but Katey could still feel the warm blood cooling on her skin just below her lip.

  He reached out and in a gesture that would have seemed normal, Logan drew her in for a kiss. What made it unusual was Logan’s attention to the spot where her lip had been sliced. His tongue moved along the edge of her lips, cleaning up the blood, and then slipped into her mouth.

  Katey allowed herself to be intimate and grazed her own tongue along his. The metallic taste of blood registered, but she didn’t pull away. They were used to blood in their food, just not in other people.

  Logan’s fingers curled against the nap of her neck, and her skin crawled with pleasure at his touch. Katey scooted forward until their knees and thighs touched. Once more, she laced her fingers through his hair, playing with it until they were no longer stiff in her hands.

  Sparks shot across her body when Logan gripped her waist and pulled her down onto the bed. It then occurred to Katey that they were completely alone. They had never lain in a bed together without one of the pack members close by or in an adjacent room. Here, in the motel, miles away from anyone who might keep them accountable for their actions, Katey and Logan were free to do whatever they wanted, and no one would know about it.

  With his body half suspended over hers, trapping her in place, he continued to kiss her. Katey could feel her body reacting to his touch, slow at first and then growing with intensity. Tremors of pleasure flooded through her limbs as she slipped her hand under his shirt, feeling his rippling abs.

  Logan let out a muffled groan, and Katey knew she was doing something right. Her fingers ascended higher, gliding over his smooth skin. He tore away for a brief second to tug his shirt over his head and discard it onto the floor.

  When he came back down to connect his lips with hers again, Katey cried out. It was nothing that he did, and it was certainly unwelcome in her mind. To Katey, it felt as if a pounding force had rammed against her skull from the inside out. It was only a second, a heartbeat of pain, and then it was gone.

  She opened her eyes and looked to Logan, his tense body looming over hers. His gaze was a crimson, lustful red, as hers must have been.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  Katey shook her head and pulled him down to kiss again. Whatever it had been, it only lasted a moment, and she wasn’t about to let that stop her from enjoying what might come.

  Logan followed her lead, and his hand found the edge of her hooded jacket. She moaned
as his fingers slid up her side as they once had a month ago in Alaska. She felt the draft of open air as her shirt and jacket was pushed up over her waist.

  Without meaning to, Katey’s back arched to the wave of ecstasy. Logan responded by tucking his arm around her waist and pulling her up until their bodies were pressed together. What bit of skin was exposed, touched his and she moaned again. She couldn’t recall if their bare bellies had ever touched before. All she knew was she wanted more.

  Her muscles tensed with anticipation as Logan’s other hand explored further up to her chest.

  Before he could even reach her bra, the pulse of pain came again and her body seized under his. Katey winced, and she frowned when Logan pulled away again. He removed his hands from her and supported himself, so they were no longer touching.

  “What is it?”

  Katey whimpered like a heartbroken puppy and raked her nails over his biceps. “Don’t stop.”

  He shook his head, the conflict of desires plain in his gaze. “No. Something’s wrong. Tell me.”

  “It’s just a headache. It’ll go away.”

  “Loups-garous don’t get headaches.” In a gesture of modesty and respect, Logan pulled Katey’s shirt down to cover her midsection again, much against her wishes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  Through the blinding lust, reason returned to Katey, and she nodded. “It’s okay.”

  Logan stood beside the bed and put his shirt back on before lying beside her. With his arm around her waist and head achingly close to her neck, he simply breathed, and they both came down from the high of fleshly yearning.

  After a while, Katey felt she could think straight and looked to Logan, her eyes green once more. He was fast asleep and lightly snoring against her shoulder. She smiled and rolled until they were facing once another.

  Although the idea of pre-marital sex was something Katey had opposed, Logan made it so difficult to refuse. For a moment, she felt more alive than she had in her entire existence. Not even the joy that running as a wolf could compare to the paradise that Logan’s caresses brought her to. It was fortunate that Logan was still in control of his senses to pull himself back from almost crossing that boundary they had set for themselves. Once Logan was rested and fed, they would continue onto Louisiana.

  What was more disturbing than their near negligence in abstinence, was how the pains had mysteriously vanished. In its place, Katey felt a dull throbbing in her blood that didn’t cause her pain, but only a mild discomfort. Nothing she could do in the way of stretches and adjusting her position on the bed would alleviate the sensations.

  Her wolf had no answer that she was willing to give. The feeling of expectancy was there, nothing more.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After parking Logan’s bike at the Canal Place Garage near the Mississippi River and across from the aquarium, they started their trek down Canal Street, into the swiftly setting sun. To the east, a blue and purple haze lined the horizon and Katey couldn’t help but admire how distinct the line was in the sky, dividing their world between night and day.

  The air was bursting with scents. The salty river breeze that wafted from behind them collided with the aromas of restaurants and cafes. Katey could smell everything from sugar-powdered pastries baking in ovens to the spiced tinge of true Cajun seafood and authentic gumbo that made her stomach ache. The only thing they had to eat were those few packets of beef jerky at the motel, and that did not satisfy the biting hunger. At the same time, the stench of stale alcohol assaulted her nose and made her lose her appetite.

  Music joined the myriad of scents. Jazz, country, and rock melodies wove together, filtering through windows and doors of clubs along the strip. The cacophony of noises roared in her ears as well, but it wasn’t more than her senses could handle. After some time of walking close to one another, the modern shopping centers and restaurants gave way to an endless sea of European- inspired architecture with richly ornate facades that shot up three or four stories high in some places.

  Lining the streets were all makes and models of cars, towering palm trees and bright red trolleys that carted tourists down on either side. Somehow, Katey had imagined the French Quarter to be even more touristy and old world in its buildings.

  They had been walking for several blocks before Logan paused, his hand grasping hers, and he sniffed the air. Katey did the same, and she smelled it too. There was a distinct trail of vampire close by. They looked to their right, down Bourbon Street, and she found the French Quarter she had been expecting.

  There was hardly any room on the paved street for more than two cars to travel down abreast of each other. The style of the brick buildings was similar but different as their balconies loomed over the sidewalks where tourists and vendors crowded for space.

  With wary feet, they made their way down the street that was dotted with potholes, passing by more shops – some modern and some not – as they searched. Logan had told her they would have to search for any vampire who might know Michael’s whereabouts. Unfortunately, they would probably be at some club or bar that catered to their kind and Katey was not looking forward to it.

  As the sunlight waned, colorful neon lights sparked to life down the strip, casting a red and yellow glow over the darkening street and shop doors that were more like tall, lime green shutters in some places, opening onto the street under the balconies.

  The iron railings and balusters along the balconies were decorated with potted plants whose vines hung low and must have sprouted flowers in the spring time. Some residents – or perhaps tourists – stood upon the balconies and took pictures of the sights below.

  In some places, the fronts of buildings were wrapped in scaffolding, cluttered with construction supplies and tools as the edifice was in the process of renovation. Several blocks away, Katey spotted what looked to be a man mounted on a horse, trotting down the street. When they came closer, she realized the rider was a policeman just before he turned down a connecting street to patrol. She didn’t know that there was still a mounted police force on active duty anymore. To Katey, that sort of thing was restricted to old movies and foreign countries.

  Somewhere in her baffled thoughts, Katey walked into a wall of odor that she could only distinguish as a horrid mix of urine and vomit that drifted from the north. She had to stop and gag, tugging Logan to a halt just outside a cigar shop that wreaked of tobacco and smoke. Her eyes watered and for a moment she thought her own vomit would join in the unpleasant smells of Bourbon Street.

  Logan seemed unaffected by the stench and waited until she could get her bearings again. “I know it’s bad. It’s going to get worse.”

  “How could it possibly get worse?” she asked while trying to swallow back the beef jerky that wanted to see the light of day again.

  Logan didn’t answer her, and once she straightened up, they carried on. His hold on her hand tightened as they went and Katey could sense that if they had the time, he would have comforted her more.

  Outside of shops, merchants and vendors displayed their goods, often shirts and souvenirs for the tourists. In some of the windows were displays of clothing and risqué fashion that Logan paid no attention to. Drunken voices slithered out of the countless bars, and strip clubs they passed and Katey walked a little closer to Logan.

  Bands and other street performers came into view. Some of them were single operations with a simple hat out to solicit tips, while others were five or six men groups of musicians playing lively music for a throng of spectators. Katey watched for a moment and admired the raw talent, but had no money and no time to pay them as they continued their search.

  The crowds began to thin further north down the block, and the vampire trail grew stronger with each step. Yet, with the potent scent of sulfur came another unwelcome sensation that set Katey’s teeth on edge.

  It was a nearly imperceptible feeling that started in her bones and snaked its way through her blood. It was unlike anything she had experienced b
efore and with her growing discomfort from what happened in the motel in Mississippi, Katey wanted to scream. It was too much.

  Logan looked to her, probably sensing her unease. “It’s okay. Just keep walking.”

  “What is that?” she whispered, looking around as if the answer lay with the shop keepers or pedestrians that passed them by.

  “Magic,” Logan replied in a calm voice. “New Orleans is like the mecca of voodoo and witchcraft. Most of them are wannabes or charlatans, but there are a few that practice the craft. Some humans can sense the energy, but we can more so. You’ll feel better once we pass the source.”

  Katey cringed as images of shrunken heads and painted witchdoctors were conjured in her mind. “Where is the source?”

  “It’s probably one of these shops. I can smell the herbs they use in their spells and rituals.”

  Katey was afraid to breathe too deeply, lest the suffocating smells of New Orleans make her dizzy. Instead, she steeled herself against the effects of the magic and whatever else had been plaguing her since they left the motel.

  The more they walked and dodged past hustlers, the begging homeless, and drunkards teetering on the sidewalk, the stronger the magic hammered at her spirit. Her wolf, who had been silent up to now, cowered and growled at the bizarre powers.

  Up ahead “Madame Celeste’s Voodoo Emporium” beamed through the darkness in swirly, mystic letters across a sign. Katey gritted her teeth. There were no windows for her to peek through, but she could smell what Logan had been talking about.

  The entrance, a set of blue shutter-like doors like the ones scattered along Bourbon Street, released a flow of magic, the essence of incense, spices, herbs, petrified wood, and other aromas that Katey couldn’t recognize. Artificial firelight danced from inside, casting a flickering glow onto the pavement.

  Just outside the open doors, sitting on a faded stool was a petite woman. She wore a dark, flowing skirt that pooled on the sidewalk around her feet and a white, billowy shirt, embroidered with swirls and flowery designs. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, her head held high and wrapped in a red turban to contain her hair that was pushed up inside of it. Hoop earrings dangled from her ears as her dark eyes were set across the street.