“How are you feeling?” she asked, her eyes averted. While his state of undress hadn’t bothered her before, she could now feel her face warming up in a distinctly non-platonic kind of way.
Panicking, she quickly jumped up from the floor and unlocked the cage door. “Get dressed and then meet us upstairs. We need to talk.” She tossed his clothes to him, then abruptly turned to leave.
No use getting attached now. Besides, he’s still just a freaking whelp.
For the first time in her life that word felt wrong in her head, and she stopped halfway up the stairs to consider what that meant, especially now that her father was on the mend.
Ro wished she had an easy answer to that, but she didn’t.
♦ ♦ ♦
Dean wasn’t sure what had just transpired between them, if anything at all, but whatever it was, it was over now.
He laughed to himself at her assertion that he simply get dressed and meet her upstairs. One sniff should have been enough to convince anyone that wasn’t a great idea. The wolf was a lot of things, but housetrained it was not. Fortunately, he needed to walk no further than his lab to remedy that. There was a small shower stall off in the corner. Dean had originally intended it for emergency chemical spills, but while they were first building the cage, Coop had suggested it also serve a more practical use.
The cage! Dean looked around and surveyed it. There were a few nicks and scrapes here and there, as well as some scratch marks in the concrete wall, but it had held. Goddamn, it had actually worked! Fuck Strike and his crummy safe house.
He smiled to himself, but realized there’d be plenty of time for a more thorough examination of it later. Ro had sounded pretty adamant in her need to talk. On the other hand, it apparently wasn’t so big of an emergency to keep her from tossing his stuff at him and running off.
She could wait.
Besides, Dean needed a few more minutes to wake up before he was ready to have any conversation more in-depth than “Good morning.” That he also wanted to sort out his thoughts from when he’d first awakened in the wolf’s body was something he barely admitted to himself. And if his shower was a wee bit colder than he normally preferred, well, it was probably best for him to not dwell upon that too long.
He stepped out about ten minutes later, feeling much more himself and smelling a lot better. He dried off, threw on his clothes, and then took a few more minutes to brush his teeth and comb his hair. In that time he almost managed to fool himself into believing it was simply out of courtesy, so he didn’t look like a complete dirt bag in front of Coop.
Finally finished, he headed toward the stairwell and let out a whoop of surprise when he almost barreled into the hunter in the doorway.
“Watch it,” she cried out, eyes wide.
Dean recovered quickly, then backed up a step as he realized he was close to infringing upon her personal space, a potentially dangerous place to be if she was in a mood. “I thought you told me to meet you upstairs.”
“I thought you were going to hurry.”
“Did you come back down to check on me?”
She narrowed her eyes. “No. I never left. Got caught up in my thoughts. Figured I’d just wait for you.”
“Are you certain?” he asked with a grin.
“Yes.”
His smile widened further. “You’re sure you weren’t trying to sneak a peek at me in the shower?”
She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Sorry to break it to you, but I’ve already seen the goods. Consider me unimpressed.”
He held up a hand with his thumb and forefinger extended. “Not even a little?”
“Interesting choice of words ... little.”
“Ooh, I don’t know why you bother to hunt with that peashooter of yours, princess, when you wound me so with your words.”
Her veneer of toughness seemed to crack ever so slightly and she allowed the ghost of a grin to appear on her face. “Come on.”
He fell in step beside her. “So what was it you wanted to talk about?”
“I’ll tell you on the way up.” She stopped abruptly, again almost causing him to walk into her, then turned and gave an exaggerated sniff of the air.
“What?” he asked, confused.
“I guess I have to give you a little credit after all,” she replied, turning and continuing up.
“For what?”
“At least you don’t smell like wet dog.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“I don’t know if I agree,” Dean said as they neared the second floor. “Why not give it a few more days?”
Ro had been expecting him to argue the point. “Because I saw him. He’s doing much better. It’s amazing the difference a few hours made. With the moon on the wane, I think his body is finally compensating for the infection.”
“Exactly,” he countered. “That’s a few hours at most. What if he has a relapse? What if he needs another transfusion?”
She realized these were all valid points. As a nurse, she knew better than most the dangers of assuming the worst was over based on the slightest hint of recovery. What she couldn’t tell him was that this was for his own protection every bit as much as her father’s. Kane was an X-factor, easily as dangerous to Dean as Strike was to her. The sooner she moved her dad and got on with her life, the better it would be. She could then deal with Kane on her own terms.
There was also another factor at play, one she felt far freer to share with him. “He’ll be with me. I can take care of him. If not, I can take him to the hospital where I work. Speaking of which, I really need to get back to that. Not all of us have a trust fund to fall back on.”
Even as the words left her mouth, she regretted them, especially when she saw the hurt look on his face. Despite the size of the house they were in, Dean wasn’t exactly swimming in cash at the moment. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m just a little testy this morning. Full moons don’t afford one a lot of sleep in my line of work.”
For a moment, he appeared as if he wanted to respond, probably with his normal condescending tone, but he simply nodded. “Apology accepted. I still think it’s premature to move him, though.” He glanced down at her, almost as if anticipating her next statement. “And before you argue, this isn’t about the blood. I have plenty left to continue my research.”
Damnit!
She’d been hoping to use that as an excuse to counter his arguments. “Why don’t you see for yourself how he is? I’m telling you, he’s much better.”
“Fair enough. But you need to give it at least another day anyway.”
“Why is that?”
“Strike.” Upon seeing the grimace of displeasure on her face, he continued. “After each moon, he insists on meeting with the entire pack. He claims it’s to make sure there were no issues with the change, but it’s more to keep us in line.” He stopped and stared hard at her. “That is, assuming he’s still...”
“He is,” she finished. “Took out two of his mongrels, but couldn’t get close to the man himself.”
Dean nodded. “You can’t underestimate him. He’s smart and has been at this a lot longer than I have. That club of his is pretty much a werewolf fortress come the full moon.”
“Kind of what I figured.”
“Two, eh?” he asked as they reached the second floor landing. “All by yourself?”
She smirked, ready for the challenge. “Barely broke a sweat.”
He let out a laugh. “The wolf might be gone for the next month, but I’m pretty sure I can still smell bullshit when it’s being piled on.”
“Think what you want, but that’s two more notches I’m going to be carving in my...”
“Bedpost?”
“Pistol grip,” she corrected. “As for Strike, what of him? As far as I can see, his dealings with you don’t have anything to do with my dad and me staying here any longer. And if you tell me that Coop’s backseat can’t fit two more, as far
as arguments go, that one is pretty goddamned weak.”
Ro stepped in to the hall to the sound of arguing. Even if she hadn’t pinpointed where it was coming from, she knew her father’s voice.
“Get your fucking hands off me, you goddamned bastard.”
She briefly turned to Dean. “Still think he’s not feeling better?”
“I stand corrected.”
22
Dean stopped in the bedroom doorway to find Coop trying to keep the older man from getting out of bed. Ro, hot on his heels, pushed past him into the room. The older hunter, though still obviously weak, seemed to have a lot more fight in him than his friend had anticipated.
“I said don’t touch me,” John Sinclair snapped as he tried to pull the IV out of his arm.
Ro stepped forward without hesitation. “Dad, don’t. You’re still recovering.”
At the sight of his daughter, John appeared to relax a bit, but his guard was obviously still up. “Don’t just stand there, girl. Come get this son of a bitch away from me before I cut him a new asshole and teach him how to breathe out of it.”
“I sincerely doubt you could cut a slice of toast in your condition,” Coop shot back.
“Anytime you want to try, boy.” The old hunter turned to Ro, a look of annoyance on his face. “Got cotton in your ears? I told you to get over here and teach this...”
“Dad, stop. Coop is right. You’re still recovering.”
John turned a side eye to the man by his bedside. “Coop, eh? You a hunter? Because you sure as shit don’t move like one.”
“I’m a friend,” Coop said.
“Ain’t no friend of mine.” John’s eyes narrowed. “And if you ain’t from the Guild, then what are you doing keeping a whelp in your basement?”
“What?”
“A goddamned werewolf! Don’t act stupid. I know what I heard.”
Oh shit. Dean was afraid of this. Time to step in and see if he could give his friend a save, lame as it might be. “Hey, Coop, don’t tell me you were watching the SyFy channel again. I told you that crap rots your brain.”
John turned toward him, seeming to notice his presence for the first time. For a moment, confusion shone on his face, leading Dean to think they had a shot at pulling off the ruse. Then the old man’s eyes narrowed.
“Rowan, get your gun.”
♦ ♦ ♦
John wasn’t sure what was going on, but all his instincts were telling him something was off. The man whom he’d first thought to be a hunter just didn’t seem right to him. He’d been born into the Guild, had been around their kind all his life. There was a certain quality to the men it produced. It was hard to say how, but he could identify a Guildsman by sight after only a few minutes. This man, whoever the hell he was, wasn’t one of them.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t trained, though. That much was obvious when John had finally gathered enough strength to try to sit up. Slow and injured as he was, he could still have subdued most normal men. This bastard, though, had countered him, kept him from removing all the damned tubes sticking in his arms like he was little more than a goddamned pincushion.
Then, in the middle of their kerfuffle, his own daughter had made an appearance. Had he been a lesser man, he might have cried tears of joy at the sight of her, but instead he’d fallen back on his training and ordered her to his side. Imagine his surprise when she hesitated. She’d always been a willful girl, but she knew her place ... or had anyway. Now, here she was telling him what to do, talking to this fella like she knew him or something.
He’d been about to lay into her with a tongue lashing when a second man, one who’d come in with Rowan, had tried laying on some bullshit lie as if he couldn’t tell the difference between a horror movie and a real wolf.
The first guy, the one named Coop, was a big fella – bald, tall, and well built – but John wasn’t intimidated. A fancy boy with gym muscles, that was all. Hell, they were usually the first to run in any fight.
That was when realization struck. John recognized him. Flashes of memory, broken fragments from the last several ... he realized he had no idea how long he’d been out. Was it hours? Days, maybe?
It was unimportant. He could learn that soon enough. What mattered was that he’d seen this man before.
Images flashed through his mind. The man leaning over him ... injecting him with something ... taking his temperature and adjusting his medication.
Maybe Rowan was right and they were friends just trying to help, but if so, then how come he’d never met this fella before? Was she running around with someone behind his back?
Before he could say anything, though, one last memory flitted through his head. He was lying in the back of a car or truck, gravely wounded. There was someone else lying on the seat alongside him. It was another man, the same who’d told the lie about watching movies. He was unconscious and naked. Before passing out himself, John realized the other man was trembling, not unlike a whelp who’d just regressed back.
John glanced over at the dresser. The noises from Coop’s phone, the ones which had sounded suspiciously like growls, they’d stopped.
And now here was this new fella standing in his doorway.
John wasn’t an educated man, but he wasn’t a fool either. He knew how to put two and two together and in doing so realized, he didn’t like the answer one bit.
♦ ♦ ♦
Everything was unraveling fast, too fast. Dean had hoped that the old man would start recovering following the full moon. What he hadn’t expected was the recovery to happen so quickly and for his secret to be discerned so soon.
“Girl!” John snarled. “Mind me. If you have your weapon, get it. If not, get your ass over here and get me out of bed. We can take these two.”
“It’s not like that, Dad. Dean and Coop are friends. They’re helping you. They’re helping us both.”
That seemed to set the old man off even more. “What the hell have they put in your head? You know the rules. We don’t make friends with whelps. We kill them. No exceptions. Not ever!”
Dean didn’t really remember much from his fight with the older hunter and, in the weeks he’d been caring for him, the old man’s demeanor had been gruff but not overly onerous. He now realized how much John’s sickness must have blunted things, how delusional he’d been while ill. Awake and fully conscious, John Sinclair was practically seething with raw, unadulterated hatred.
“They’re the ones who found you and helped you get better,” Ro continued to argue.
“You think I’m stupid, girl? I saw him, right after the full moon. You’re the one who bit me, ain’t ya?” He pointed an accusing finger at Dean.
Even though he knew the older man spoke the truth, he was at a loss for how to respond. “Sir, please calm down.”
“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down, whelp! I know what I saw. I’m not stupid. Rowan, I’m going to tell you one last time, get your gun and put this mutt down.”
“Dean, you need to leave the room,” Ro said without looking at him. Her eyes were trained on her father, her expression cool and emotionless. This was a completely different woman than the one who had held his hand in the basement just minutes earlier, who had shone empathy for the human within the wolf.
“Ro...”
“I said get out!”
“But...”
Coop clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Dude, it’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”
Dean was about to protest further but caught the look in his friend’s eyes. “I got this,” Coop reiterated.
Frustrated, Dean walked out of the room and slammed his palm against the wall before stalking down the hall.
♦ ♦ ♦
Ro turned back to her father, who was already ripping out his IV and calling for his clothes. “Okay, Dad, hold on. You almost died. You need to slow down.”
“I need to get the hell out of here, find my weapons, then come back and put
that whelp down. That’s what I need.” He trained his gaze on her, bitter disappointment showing in his eyes. “I thought I trained you better, Rowan. I taught you not to be soft, not like your mo ... what the hell are you doing?”
Ro turned to find that Coop had returned. “Excuse me,” he said calmly, pushing past her.
Before she could question him, he jabbed a needle into her father’s arm.
“What the hell was that?” the old man cried.
“Just a little something to calm you down.”
“You asshole! I’ll get you and your canine bang buddy. I’m gonna put a bullet in both your fucking skulls.” He continued to spew invectives, but his voice became increasingly weaker until it finally trailed off into silence. After a few more minutes, soft snores filled the room, but the atmosphere remained tense.
Ro stared down at her father, her emotions at war. A part of her was tempted to snap Coop’s neck for what he’d done, but she held herself in check, realizing that, deep down, she didn’t entirely disagree with his actions.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I had to. He still needs to rest and he can’t do that if...”
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry.” She stared at her father’s prone figure and inexplicably felt like crying. But she swallowed down the tears and cleared her throat. “We’d better get him out of here before he wakes up.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “It’s not safe for him ... us to be here any longer.”
Coop apparently thought better than to disagree. “Go pack your things. I’ll get him dressed.”
Her first instinct was to argue that she’d take care of her father, get him ready, but she suddenly found herself weary in a way that even her lack of sleep from the night before couldn’t account for.
She’d known her father hated werewolves. He’d practically beaten the knowledge into her since she was a young child, teaching her to hate them as well. Wolves had killed her mother, after all, had devoured her and gnawed on her bones afterward.
But deep down, she realized that in the past few days she’d begun to suspect that he might be wrong. Not all wolves were bad. They couldn’t be. Dean was certainly an exception, viewing every full moon as torture rather than the bloodbath others seemed to revel in.
Lycan Moon: An Urban Fairy Tale (Lycan Evolution Book 1) Page 17
