The sound of bodies hitting metal had a sickening. But Booker blocked it from his mind as he continued moving fast and with power in each punch and hit he threw at his enemies.
There was no room for thought that his enemies were within his own pack or emotion other than embracing the rage that fuelled him. That fuelled them. That he felt from the group around him. Conall was the centre of it, but he wasn’t the only one that the heightened anger was coming from. Most of the pack were just committed to seeing the fight through.
Conall came back at him again. “Maim me – try harder you lap dog fuck!” Conall screeched at him, swinging out a wide jab, that connected with Booker’s temple and momentarily made him loose balance as he fell backwards onto the El-Camino. Crushing its bonnet even more under his body weight.
Booker felt nausea and the throbbing pain of his head’s momentary blindness. But he shook it off as Conall leapt at him, jumping on top of the larger man and start throwing punches.
One after the other, left, right, left, right, left, right, straight into the Booker’s face until it was covered in nothing but bloody, crimson red liquid. Conall’s speed was his best weapon, not giving Booker enough time to react, to defend or move. It gave Conall the upper hand he needed, to try and defeat the alpha male.
“Pup!” Booker panted getting hit again and raising his arms to grab Conall’s two wrists. And digging his fingers around them tightly. He pressed the finer points of the writst together. Conall growled in frustration and looked down at the hold booker had on him. He was pressing the bones, underneath his skin, together, as if going to rub them together until they snapped.
Conall stated to shake and jerk in the tightening grip. Booker knew the younger werewolf was making the mistake of focussing on the pain he was feeling from what Booker was doing to him. And panicking because he could not get away from the grip the older Breukelen had on him. It was the wrong thing to do and Booker used it to his advantage.
A lesson had to be taught. The hard way, it seemed. “It’s time for you to change your attitude.” Booker stated, digging his fingers into Conall’s skin, pressing downwards harder with each second that passed. He concentrated on bringing on the other werewolves shift through invitation of his alpha werewolf.
It wasn’t all that hard. Conall wasn’t the strongest beta he’d ever come across, or the most determined. “Hurt?” Booker taunted with a bloody fang filled, smirk at Conall’s open mouth as he grunted, still struggling against the hold on him. “I hope you hurt, like you hurt her.”
Alpha werewolves had stronger connections and more self-power than beta wolves. Which meant, Booker could easily dominate, an already susceptible Conall Wakely’s inner wolf. Booker had noticed the hair on Conall was extending along his head, jawline and arms. The moon was making a natural play for his Beta wolf and Conall was too involved in the fight, to notice it. Which gave Booker the advantage he wanted.
Booker made his left hand shift whilst holding Conall, into a large wolf claw, the sensation of the shift and instant smell of Breukelen werewolf and of Booker’s blood, was like an uncontrollable aphrodisiac and illicit temptation to the younger Beta wolf that was Conall Wakely. And he knew it. But it was too late. Conall’s growl lost it’s human vocals and began to sound more animal in nature.
Seeing what Booker was playing at. Using the circumstances of the situation and surroundings to his own advantage to work against those that would seek them out. Conall tried to pull back off Booker, out of his grip. He could sense what the older werewolf was doing to him.
With the moon almost at his peak, and an alpha werewolf’s abilities concentrated on him, Conall Wakely had in effect, allowed his anger to cloud his otherwise clear judgement. He had allowed his sense of self-worth and righteousness, in wanting to see himself the victor where Bg Sommers was concerned, render him hopeless to realise the easy trap he had set himself to fall into at the hands of Booker. He could feel his shape shift racing up through his body, tightly.
Conall tried to pull his arm out of the claw, only causing Booker’s talon like claws to dig themselves further into his skin like nails, pinning one man to another in the joined fight for pain and revenge.
Booker would not let go, at any cost. They both knew it. Booker was counting on it. He was hooked in, literally to Conall Wakeley’s arm, causing the male so much agony that he could no longer fight the shift, because his human side could not take the kind of pain he was inflecting by tearing and digging past the outer layer of his skin, into the sinew of muscle and tendon, as blood spurted out spasmodically.
Just to escape the excruciating pain that would be flaring up in his still very human body, Conall’s will to shape shift would be beyond tested. Booker knew he would weaken and give in a hell of a lot faster than he might normally if he were to fight a shape shift.
Hollywood movies would have nons believe that shape shifting was fast and seamless. But a good shift usually only occured when a wolf was with other wolves, something about pheromones or group recognition calming the body down more, so it hurt less. A bad shape shift could feel like eternity and rough all over. Bones breaking and fracturing as internal organs and muscles, expanded to the point of exploding out of a body that doesn’t seem capable of holding them? At first.
A bad shift, could be triggered by a few things, one of them would be rage and attack, both Breukelen werewolves knew it, even as Conall’s body started to literally break apart on him. And they hadn’t even gotten to the external stuff, the skin splitting and cutting apart. Every bone around the two hundred and six bones in the human body would break or fracture. Every single one of them, most of them, more than once to accommodate the werewolf.
Booker grinned, knowing Conall’s organs would be aching and pulling, trying to figure out if they’re going to constrict you to death, or expand till he explode in the skin it was in. Booker thought it was damn shame he lacked the power to actually make those organs go through with the exploding part. It wasn’t like Conall didn’t deserve it.
Muscles were starting to stretch to the point of tearing, till they could stretch no further. Booker watched the pain contort Conall’s face, just as he would begin to think his muscles would snap apart forever, then the real pain would start. Well it would be ongoing but it would starts to fill every fiber of his being.
They both heard the popping sound of pressure in the muscles from Booker’s driving talons and the shape shift rising up in Conall’s body. It was a distinct wet sound followed by a deep grunt of held together agony by Conall. Not to automatically yell out. It was like fine strings snapping inside him, blood flowed and bones crunched, cracked and snapped, before re-extending through skin, and muscle, pushing as much as they pulled apart.
Booker knew the sensation Conall was going through. All werewolves remembered their first time, or any time, their shift was painful. It was like being trapped in an oven which was your body and trying to breathe through suffocated air.
He’d have thought, at least once that his blood was going to boil him alive, because he’d feel trapped in a heat wave encased in his skin. Booker listened, focusing beyond Conall’s external grunts and groans, to the sound of his heart beat literally slowing down. The shift was in full effect. It’s was about this time that another change kicked in and so the waves of shifting one body into another continued.
Booker guessed it was around the first twenty seconds mark. Which should mean, with his overpowering Conall’s wolf, he should be done in another fifteen seconds or so.
“I might be a lap dog to you, pup, but I’m a smart one.” He muttered as Conall opened his mouth, towards the moon and something between an animal’s cry of agony and a howl filled the night air around them. It stilled those who weren’t attacking the El Comino, Kingsley or Booker.
Booker knew his place in the Breukelen Pack and as much as he understood the insult of “Lap dog” thrown at him. He was big enough to see past it. He was friends with the next heir to the leadership o
f the Breukelen Pack. He was in her inner circle and he was trusted. Not only for his unyielding friendship and loyalty. But because he understood strategy and had the brain for it, that when required Bodil would call upon to use. For the better of all of the pack.
“Beg for mercy pup.” Booker said as the shimmering of skin and movement of bones re-aligning began to take place. He heard the crunch of bones breaking in the very arms he was holding on Conall Wakely. He felt the arms tighten and slacken and move, and collapse and rebuild in his hold. Still Booker held on as all around them howls arose from their attackers as they too were forced to shift under the moon’s light.
They had no choice in the matter. This was why werewolves never did anything that was not to their advantage, like fight, on a lunar night. Everybody knew, you were vulnerable at some point. Both nons and werewolves alike. Only the truly stupid would fight on a night that didn’t give them all the advantages to be the victor.
It was what Booker had been waiting for. “Kingsley!” Booker yelled at the top of his lungs as he kept Conall pinned to him and the El Comino. “Kingsley dégagez un chemin, maintenant!” Booker boomed, unable to see the Manhattan Maen werewolf from his vantage point. Yelling at him to clear a path in French. “Dégagez un chemin, maintenant!” He repeated as Conall Wakeley’s arms started to lengthen in hair. Light brown hair seemed to grow down his arms.
“Got ya!” Kingsley cried out back at him, sounding a far distance back and off to the right. Booker held onto Conall until his wolf was fully formed above him. Snarling and rearing its teeth at him.
“A promise is a promise” Booker muttered through gritted teeth addressing Conall as the werewolf lunged for his throat dramatically fast.
Booker released one hand on the wolf’s leg and brought up his fist to smash into the werewolf’s teeth, the same time he pulled down, on the other werewolf’s leg he still had his claws buried in. Pushing until he heard the snap of bone and Conall the werewolf yelped and fell backwards off him. Booker pushed up off the car and turned around sharply, their other assailants were still in various forms of the shift.
Kingsley had jumped into the blue pickup truck and was reversing it out of the way. Booker turned back to the Porsche which looked unharmed and still locked and intact. They had managed to keep the fight to just them.
“Get ready” Paris said softly watching Booker hold the extremely pissed off werewolf Conall Wakely at bay as he yelled for Kingsley.
“Dégagez un chemin, maintenant!”
“Here we go.” Paris said, quickly pulling the seat belt around him and Bg’s huddled figure in his arms. The heat coming off her now, was almost unbearable to touch skin to skin. It was only getting hotter through the thin cotton sheet they had her wrapped up in. The sweat coming off her was drenching the sheet a dark maroon style colour. But it was all still to hold, and getting harder and harder for Paris to hold her.
Addison leaned forward to the dark tainted front windscreen. “You see Kingsley?” He asked, trying to make out the rest of the what was happening around them, as the El Comino blocked half their view.
“No.” Paris stated tersely.
They listened as Booker yelled at the top of his voice in French. “Dégagez un chemin, maintenant!” again and then waved them through quickly as he threw Conall Wakeley off him and out of site.
“Hit anything that moves and is in our way.” Paris replied as Addison slipped into gear and reversed up short and pulled out quickly. “Do not hesitate. Do not fail me.”
“Wait!” Paris yelled as he wound his window down, intending to say something to Booker.
“Just go!” Booker said at him. “Go! Go!” he waved frantically at the Porsche, hoping Addison remembered what he was supposed to do. The Porsche gunned to life and swung out wide from around the back of the El Comino. It braked beside Booker.
Paris looked out the window at him, Bg Sommer’s body in his arms, she was sweating like she had a wicked fever. Which couldn’t be good he realised. She was either worsening in what she going through or she was going to shiftshape on them in that car, which would be a disaster.
“Just go!” Booker said as Addison gunned it out of there and through the pathway that Kingsley had managed to create them. The Porsche sped off into the night as Booker looked about them. At the aftermath of the fight. The Breukelen were almost completely shifted.
“Kingsley!” He boomed as the dark skinned male appeared, looking as beat up as himself. “Get in!” Booker said pointing to his car as they quickly scrambled around to their respective sides and Booker started the El Comino up again. There was no time to stay and take names for a later beating. He would deal with the insubordinates later.
“I can take those pissy little loups-garou.” He panted slumping into the passenger side seat with an arm cross his bleeding stomach. Booker glanced at it and he removed his arm and Booker saw the deep open wound, revealing Kingsley’s insides.
“Not in that condition you can’t. A good retreat is better than a failed stand, any day.” Booker panted backing the car up and aiming it directly at the werewolves in the way of the path to clearing out of there. He paused, looking at them as they came to their wolf form.
“Loups-Garou man, made of tough stuff. Mow those fuckers over now! It’s us or them!” Kingsley yelled at him as Booker put the El Comino into gear and pressed his foot flat to the floor and accelerated straight at the snarling wolves. Who instead of leaping out of the way of the oncoming vehicle, leapt straight at it.
The sound of the wolf body coming off second best against the El Comino was enough to make Booker sick in his own mouth. He wiped his hand across his face to clear the taste. Another werewolf threw itself at the car, smashing it’s heads through the front windscreen which shattered as it tried to snap at both retreating males.
Booker raised his fist and punched the werewolf straight into its snout. Sending it skidding out the window and down the bonnet of the car, until it disappeared from sight as the car ran over it.
Booker glanced back in the rear vision mirror and saw the werewolf pull itself up to stand, and fall back down and half get up again. “At least it’s alive.” He muttered to himself looking back out at the road. Ignoring the split skin across his hand and knuckles that looked like grooves, of missing flesh.
“When did you learn to speak French?” Kingsley asked him wincing as he tried to straighten up in the seat. “Giving me that command in French was pretty smart man.”
“And everybody just thinks I’m wanted for my good looks.” Booker muttered driving around the other side of the pick up truck. “Not my brains.”
“Aww.”
“You need to shift?” Booker asked Kingsley.
“Fraid so.” Kingsley replied back at him.
“I’ll take you to a place, but we got to put distance between us and them. You got to hold on man. Allow me to tell you why the Breukelen know a thing or two about speaking French.”
“Was it to integrate with the Manhattan Maen?”
Booker shrugged his shoulders. “I learnt it in high school, didn’t you?” He asked as Kingsley broke into laughter and groaned and cough. Pressing his arms down onto his stomach even tighter. Booker kept his foot down flat to the floor and looked behind them. They were clear of Industrial City Park and Kingsley’s was literally bleeding out of his mouth and stomach. Booker pulled over the car on to the shoulder of the road.
“Why we stopping?” Kingsley asked him, his voice tight.
“You need to shape shift, and we’re not going to make it to the safety house I had in mind. By the roadside is going to have to do.”
“Are you mad?” Kingsley asked frowning. “Shape shift in the open. Like that doesn’t break every known New York Pack’s law…”
“We have no choice here. You’re losing a lot of blood and the moon is peaking. Its’ got to be now.” Booker stated. “Besides, I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”
Kingsley started coughing and laughing at the
same time, blood gurgled up from is mouth. “Fuck man, I think they hit something vital.” He said going into a fit of coughs and mixed French and English. “I don’t think I can shift.”
“You have to!” Booker barked at him.
“I can already feel the coldness seeping in to my bones man. You know, I never wanted a heads up on when I was going to die, just wanted it done fast and with glory.”
“I can help you.” Booker said starting to open his car door and stopping as Kingsley weakly raised his arm and slapping it down on his.
“No need.” He coughed, spurting out blood and turning his head to look at Booker. Booker paused and looked back at Kingsley. Looking for a sign of life. He watched as the Manhattan Maen’s eyes lost their essence and seemed to go cold and blank.
“No. Come on loups-garou Kingsley, come on man. Not now.” Booker said softly picking up his limp hand and putting his fingers to his wrist, feeling for a pulse and finding none. Booker gently placed his arm back on his own body. He turned back around in his seat and hit the dashboard hard a few times in silent frustration. Before resting his bloody mess of a head on the steering wheel.
The cell phone in his pocket started to ring. Booker pulled himself back up and pulled out the phone, caller ID had it as Bodil Sommers.
“Booker, it’s Bodil.” She said the minute the line picked up. He sighed down the line at her. She sounded terse.
“Hey,” he greeted her with looking back across at Kingsley’s slumped figure.
“I need to speak to Bg, Booker. Can you put her on please?”
Booker closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s with Paris at the moment. They’re on their way to your family home. They should be there by now. They’re under strict instructions not to let anyone other than you or the leading Breukelen alpha in to the family grounds.” He said in a lot calmer tone of voice than he felt.
Nature of the Beast Page 9
