Conner's Wolf

by Jory Strong

  “The sooner the better.”

  “Then I need something to tide me over until we stop for the night.”

  He laughed at the reminder of his own words after the mind-frying blowjob in the motel shower. The band around his chest fell away and he wondered how in the hell he’d gotten so lucky when she rose onto her knees in a demand he could no more ignore than he could the raw need rushing through him.

  He shoved tank top and bra upward, exposing her breasts with their dark, dark nipples. Cupping the smooth mounds, he pushed them together, lessening the distance between large areolas so he could give equal attention to both.

  He took a nipple between his lips, his tongue offering a wet greeting, his cock already aching to be inside her again. Arousal beading on the head when she said, “I love having your mouth on me.”

  He answered with his teeth because there was no way he could force himself from her breast. He bit, her sharp cry and the arch of her back making him curse the clothing between them.

  Lust was a molten fire in his bloodstream. He bit again, felt her gasp and the jerk of her body an instant before she went completely limp.

  Alarm flashed through him and he reached for the 9mm automatically. His hand making contact but stilling when a man’s voice said, “Stop or I’ll order you killed.”

  A gun fired from a different location, the kick of dirt next to the chair punctuating the threat issued from the woods in front of him.

  “Take your hand away from the weapon.”

  He complied, fury gripping him, fear transformed by adrenaline, accompanied by condemnation at having allowed this to happen. He ruthlessly suppressed anything that wouldn’t aid him in staying alive and stopping Scholes.

  Against his bare chest he could feel Khemirra’s heart beating. He shifted her in his arms and saw the dart stabbed into her left buttock. Protectiveness had him tugging her bra and tank top downward over exposed skin.

  Footsteps approached from the rear, two sets of them, coming from either side of the cabin. The first to reach him belonged to a thug with prison ink on his neck.

  The ex-con picked up the off-duty piece and the owner of the voice stepped from the woods, a geek carrying a scoped rifle. Conner gambled and said, “I take it you’re Armand Scholes.”

  A flinch acknowledged the hit. “And you are?”

  He decided to take a second gamble, though this one came with the unwelcome question of how they’d found the cabin if he hadn’t been recognized. “Detective Conner Stern.”

  Scholes glanced at the man still out of sight behind Conner. “Check the cabin, Diego. Verify who he is.”

  Footsteps retreated. Conner didn’t volunteer that his wallet and shield were on the kitchen counter. No point in making things quick and easy, though with three armed men, having one leave didn’t change the odds in his favor, especially when he was hampered by Khemirra’s unconscious body.

  Scholes’ free hand went to a silver medallion around his neck. He lifted it to his mouth and spoke with it pressed to his lips as if it contained a tiny transmitter. “Bring the van.”

  Several minutes passed before Conner heard an engine in the distance. It grew steadily louder, arriving with the sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway leading to the cabin.

  More adrenaline poured into his system. But there was no move he could make that didn’t risk the instant death of a head shot or the complete powerlessness of a tranquilizer dart.

  “Get out of the chair slowly, Mr. Stern. You may retain possession of Khemirra for the moment.”

  Conner shifted Khemirra in his arms and got to his feet, the position allowing him a good look at Diego as he emerged from the cabin with a gun in his hand. Another ex-con, more likely to be hired muscle than cult-like followers of Scholes.

  “He’s a cop,” Diego said.

  “That’s unfortunate. Keep your eyes and your weapons trained on him.” Scholes gave a slight wave of the rifle barrel toward the side of the cabin. “Let’s go around front, Detective.”

  Conner went, Diego and his companion flanking him while Scholes stayed well back.

  “Prepare for loading the cage,” Scholes said, his voice low enough to indicate he was speaking into the transmitter again.

  Conner’s gut told him he was still alive because of the passion Scholes had witnessed, and his potential usefulness as leverage against Khemirra. He tried to improve the odds of being worth keeping alive by dredging up what he knew about werewolves—something he could use as an angle with Scholes.

  Fuck, he hadn’t watched horror flicks even as a teen. Did werewolves have sex? Did they do anything but turn at the full moon and eat people?

  They rounded the corner of the cabin without his coming up with anything useful. A van was parked a few feet away from his car, the side door open, a metal cage visible.

  A woman stood next to the van, motionless, as if awaiting further orders. She was a looker, tiny and blonde like Trace’s Aislinn, though her face held a remoteness Aislinn’s never would.

  Several feet from the van, Scholes said, “Stop,” though he kept going until he stood next to the woman, his hand gripping the medallion as if it had turned into a lucky charm. He gave her the rifle and pointed at Conner. “Keep it aimed on him. Any movement from that spot and you tranquilize him.”

  The coldness of the woman’s eyes said she’d do as ordered without hesitation, but the command solidified Conner’s read that he’d be kept alive and with Khemirra.

  Despite the amount of firepower aimed at him, Scholes approached cautiously. “Give me his gun, Tony. Then take Khemirra and put her in the cage.”

  Tony handed the 9mm over, shoving his own in the waistband of his jeans before reaching for Khemirra. Conner’s arms tightened instinctively but he forced himself to relinquish her, to remain still even as he seethed at witnessing her being caged.

  “Excellent,” Scholes said, moving backward so he stood next to the woman again. “Diego and Tony, before we leave I want you to go inside and make it look as though revenge is what motivated this visit and Detective Stern’s disappearance.”

  Diego turned toward the cabin. Tony jumped from the van.

  Scholes fired without warning, hitting Tony in the chest before changing targets.

  He caught Diego turning, the first bullet striking an arm, the second and third driving into his torso. The distance making both men easy kills.

  Training and self-control kept Conner in place. The woman’s attention on him never wavered.

  Scholes lowered the gun, gaze flicking between Conner and the blood spreading in a slow stain from where Tony lay only a few feet away from him. “Either you have tremendous control for a werewolf, or you’re human, Detective.” He turned toward the woman. “Which is it?”

  “Human.”

  “Then only time will tell if keeping him alive serves a purpose. Shoot him.”

  The dart hit Conner in mid-lunge, dropping him into oblivion.

  Chapter Six

  Khemirra returned to consciousness in snarling confusion and the wolf’s frantic desire to escape. She battled the change instinctively, keeping her eyes closed though her nose and ears frantically gathered information.

  Conner was near. She could hear breathing and smell his scent.

  The wolf’s struggle for dominance lessened and Khemirra cautiously opened her eyes, not willing to reveal her awareness. She was in a cage, one large enough for a wolf or a crouched human.

  Conner lay on the ground several feet away. He was on his side, the same as she was, but unlike her, his hands were bound behind his back with plasticuffs and the rope securing his ankles was tethered to a metal ring set in the floor.

  Guilt nearly crushed her, pain at seeing him made helpless, his life in danger because she’d involved him in this. Anger followed. At herself, at Scholes.

  She should have ripped Scholes apart after killing the mage. She would if she ever got the chance again.

  She forced her attentio
n away from Conner and to the bars. They’d been set far enough apart to allow for capture loops and sedation, a gap too small for most men to get an arm through, but not her.

  She fought a smile. From a young age she’d been taught how to pick locks. All the wolves in her pack underwent the same training. It was considered as essential to survival as learning how to hunt in wolf form or navigate the human world while wearing skin.

  An inventory of her clothing, done by sight and the subtlest of movements, had elation singing through her. The small collection of wires hidden in the waistband of her shorts hadn’t been discovered and removed.

  The urge to escape the cage and get to Conner was a fierce dictate she fought against giving in to. Her rational mind cautioned and she listened, studying what she could see of the room, looking for cameras monitoring her actions, knowing that until Conner was conscious, it would be foolish to act.

  It seemed an eternity before his low moan signaled a change in condition. Renewed anguish spread through her as she watched him come slowly to alertness and struggle against the restraints.

  There was fury in his expression, and more. The bitter taste of failure became part of his scent.

  She couldn’t bear it. Sitting up, she pressed forward against the bars and called his name.

  The sound of Khemirra’s voice centered Conner. It brought him out of a desperate struggle with dark emotion and gave him focus. He managed to get to his knees and go to her, the rope growing taut so there was no possibility of his bound wrists or ankles being within reach of her hands.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and the sight of her eyes glistening with tears stripped away everything but the truth. He loved her.

  “I’m not.”

  He touched his mouth to hers, swallowing her small sob before his tongue coaxed her into opening for him, into celebrating the fact they were still alive and together. He didn’t know if there were cameras or listening devices, he suspected there were, but in the long moments of their kiss, all that mattered was the press of lips and rub of tongues in soul-deep communication.

  “What happened?” she finally asked. “The last thing I remember was you biting my nipple. And don’t tell me I passed out from the pleasure of it.”

  He gave a short bark of laughter despite the dire situation. “Tranquilizer dart.”

  “And then what?”

  “Scholes killed his hired muscle.”

  “God, Conner, I’m—”

  “Don’t say it, Khemirra. I’m tied up at the moment but that doesn’t mean we won’t revisit the issue of due punishment.”

  She laughed as he’d meant for her to do, though there were tears buried in the sound. “Where are we?”

  He shook his head. “I got hit with a dart after you’d been loaded into a van and Scholes gunned down his helpers.”

  They both looked around. Windows high up on the wall marked it as being evening, but closed, there was no fresh air to give them a hint either by smell or sound as to where they were.

  The construction implied an industrial-type building rather than a home. Over half the room was made up of a large cage Conner labeled an artificial habitat.

  It reminded him of something he might see in a low-end zoo. Piles of rock and cut trees decorated it, along with tall plants in ceramic pots, allowing for hiding places and the pretense of privacy. The only visible cameras in the entire room were attached to the ceilings in the habitat.

  Wire fencing divided it into two equal parts, but that fencing could be retracted, creating a single space. Along the front of both compartments were sections at the same height, and matching the door size of the wheeled cage holding Khemirra, allowing for the safe transfer of non-tranquilized wolves into the enclosure.

  The rest of the room was furnished more like a vet clinic than a mad scientist’s experimental laboratory. Locked drawers suggested drugs, possibly surgical instruments.

  A desk had neatly stacked folders to one side and a legal pad on the other. None of the drawers had locks. That offered possibilities. With a sharp pair of scissors and enough time, he could be free of restraints, provided one of them could get to the desk and they were lucky enough to find something useful there.

  He refused to think escape wasn’t possible. Turning his face toward Khemirra, he saw the same resolve in her and nearly blurted out that he loved her. He leaned in, kissing her again instead, saying afterward, “We’ll get out of here alive.”

  The sound of a deadbolt sliding stopped him from saying more. The door opened and Scholes entered the room, the blonde with the nonexistent conscience accompanying him.

  “Good, you’re both awake,” Scholes said.

  He crossed to the cage with confidence though he had a gun holstered at his side and a cattle prod in his hand. “Our stay here is temporary, the unfortunate result of your involvement in this, Detective, and your being aware of mine. I’m making different arrangements, but we won’t be able to safely relocate for another day or so. Whether you’ll accompany us or not will depend on my being convinced you’re a help and not a hindrance to my plans for Khemirra.”

  “By plans, you mean prove the existence of werewolves?”

  “Ah, so you know what she is.”

  What I know is that you’re bat-shit crazy. What he said was, “Yes.”

  Scholes nodded, as if congratulating himself. “I’m glad I decided to keep you alive. I’ve been led to believe it’s against supernatural law for werewolves to reveal themselves to a human who isn’t going to be made part of their family unit, pack as it were. Apparently you do indeed have value.

  “But to return to your question, revealing the existence of werewolves has never been part of my motivation for spending large sums of money in order to locate and capture one. In fact, public knowledge would be detrimental.

  “My goal has always been, and remains, the breeding of a species of wolf with enough human intelligence and cunning to not only survive in what remains of its natural habitat, but to expand that territory so wolves once again roam freely in all of the Americas.”

  He waved a hand in the direction of the habitat. “It’s a theory, of course, but I suspect she won’t mate fully with a male wolf, otherwise those magnificent creatures wouldn’t be slowly edging toward extinction. If you both cooperate, there will be an opportunity for conjugal visits. But by natural means or artificial, she will soon be carrying a litter of pups.”

  Jesus. Scholes’ vision for greatness had the hair standing at the back of Conner’s neck. He hated dealing with crazies.

  “Have you seen her in her wolf form?” Scholes asked.

  Conner flashed back to the wolf lured to the cabin by the sound of the flute. Pretend that was her? Or deny? There was no way to be sure what the smart move was when it came to someone as certifiable as Scholes.

  He opted to play along. “I saw the wolf last night. It was a full moon.”

  “Excellent.” Scholes’ attention shifted to Khemirra. He gestured with the cattle prod. “If you’ll please shift forms now, we can avoid unnecessary violence and your Detective Sterns can be made more comfortable. Surely you don’t like seeing him restrained in such a manner.”

  “I can’t change forms, not during the day.”

  “You and I both know that’s not true.”

  Conner saw her hands tighten on the bars of the cage. “Then I’ll rephrase. I can’t unless forced by magical means.”

  “I wish I could rely on you to tell the truth. Instead it seems I’ll be forced to test a hypothesis predicting that the wolf will emerge if it perceives a life-threatening situation.”

  His free hand went to the medallion as he turned slightly toward the woman. Offering her the cattle prod, he said, “Use this on Khemirra until she changes into her wolf form or I tell you to stop.”

  The woman took it from him and crossed to the cage. Though there was no way Conner could get free of the restraints, he fought against them, fury rising and caution evaporating into a stream of
curses as, with icy, deliberate calm, the woman touched the tip to Khemirra.

  Pain screamed through Khemirra, an electric agony that had the wolf thrashing. She curled into a ball rather than scramble around in a cage too small to allow her to escape the prod’s reach.

  It took all her control to keep the wolf contained. It required the surrender of pride and dignity. She screamed, gasping out a lie when she could. “I need moonlight.”

  The jolts lessened as the charge wore down, but actual pain and remembered pain and the threat of pain, along with the battle to keep from shifting, left her trembling and whimpering even after Scholes finally said, “Stop.”

  The barest hint of the woman’s scent drifted into the cage then, causing goose bumps to spread across her skin as the wolf translated smell into a realization that nothing about the woman was human, despite the appearance of it.

  Khemirra uncurled from the fetal ball and sat, hugging her knees to her chest, her nerve endings still jittery.

  The woman was completely motionless, lacking breath and heartbeat. She was like a beautiful statue, inanimate perfection except for the emotion burning in sapphire blue eyes, the merciless fury of a trapped creature who would tear its captor apart should the opportunity present itself.

  “I believe my experiment is nearly concluded,” Scholes said, drawing Khemirra’s attention to the medal on a chain around his neck and the way he touched it when he ordered the woman to relinquish the cattle prod.

  It made Khemirra think of the mage charm that had forced her to change shape in its presence. If she or Conner could take possession of it, they could command—

  A hard shudder went through her, wolf denial and self-preservation both. No, not command, not without knowing what the entity appearing human was.

  Khemirra looked at Conner and experienced a different type of agony at reading fury and failure in his face, at scenting blood from his struggles against the restraints.

  “You were able to track Khemirra using her soul as a beacon,” Scholes said to the woman, the medal still in his hand. “Can you see a connection between the two of them?”