Harlequin Nocturne May 2015 Box Set: Wolf HunterPossessed by a Wolf

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  This was a male voice, and recognizable as someone he had recently met. Who, though?

  As a breath-robbing stab of pain shot through Cameron, he squeezed his eyes shut.

  “We’ll have to do something about those guys eventually, but they’ve actually done us a few favors in the past by ridding the area of some tough characters.”

  “They’ve saved us time and effort,” another voice chimed in. “What they lack in style, those hunters make up for in attitude.”

  “And...silver...bullets,” Cameron muttered as the touch of the foreign hand left his face.

  “Well, I think he’ll live,” someone observed.

  “He will be one sick puppy, though. Thankfully, we have Mrs. Landau to take charge of the medical stuff.”

  Landau. The name rang a distant bell, but threads of Cameron’s wits were separating, and chasing them down appeared to be out of the question since he couldn’t move his arms or legs.

  Bullet...

  Numbness...

  Jesus. Had he been paralyzed?

  “You’re safe,” the first voice soothed. “It looks like you will heal, though not today or tomorrow. When we’re injured in wolf form, the body automatically tries to deal with the problem. Since we’re so much stronger when the moon is full, you can probably thank your stars this didn’t occur on any other night.”

  Cameron’s thoughts raced. Five years as a cop, and he’d never been shot. Others on the force hadn’t been as fortunate. But he had to get up, couldn’t wait for a few days to pass in a state of injured inertia. Too many questions remained unanswered. What had happened to Abby? Where had she gone? She couldn’t be left out there to manage a first shift on her own.

  Warm hands pressed on his chest, easing him back before it had even registered that he’d tried to rise.

  “Not so fast, wolf. Ease up. You do want to get better, right?”

  Yes, he did want that. He wanted it desperately. But...

  “Dana went after Abby. She will bring back news.”

  Cameron only had the energy to sputter one word. “Wolf.”

  “Not tonight,” one of the people present said. “Abby Stark didn’t shift tonight. Not yet, anyway.”

  Then she might be safe, Cameron thought. The hunters wouldn’t target a human. Abby would know better than to remain in the area, and understand how to take care of herself. She had lived among those bastards for a long time.

  He had to either believe that, or go mad.

  No, he had to get up and find her. The impulse to do so was too strong to ignore.

  “Whoa, big boy.” A female scent floated to him over the sour smell of whatever this bunch had used to stanch his wound. “I’d stay put if I were you.”

  “Dana?” a male immediately responded, and by the tone, Cameron put a name to this male voice. Dylan. Dylan and Dana Delmonico were a pair. He remembered the way they had looked at each other, and the flare of his longing for Abby worsened.

  “I spoke with her,” Delmonico said.

  “That was extremely risky, Dana.”

  “It seemed necessary. She was looking for our new friend here. I think I put her mind at ease.”

  “Don’t think so.” Wilson’s voice, lower than the rest, was quieter, and calm. “I’ll bet Miss Stark is frantic by now. She has to realize what she is, without shifting. And she’s dead center in the middle of Sam Stark’s personal battle with the rest of us.”

  Delmonico took issue with that suggestion. “She’s strong and capable. Though her father might be a monster, it’s obvious that Abby wants something else.”

  Cameron felt all eyes turn to him without having to open his eyes and look.

  “So,” Wilson said. “It’s like that, is it?”

  “Yep,” Delmonico replied. “A pair.”

  “Will we have to sit on Mitchell to keep him down, or will he see the reasoning behind the need to heal first?”

  “I’m thinking chains might help,” Delmonico said.

  Cameron cracked his eyes open to find Delmonico smiling down at him. Yes, damn it, he felt sick. He hurt worse than almost anything he recalled, except for one event—the terrible, life-altering few days of his body’s rewiring from a human system to a far more complex one. He had barely made it past that. At one time he had prayed to die, to get the ordeal over with.

  Nothing on the planet was worse than having a pair of razor-sharp canines sinking so deeply into muscle the force shattered bone. A bite with the ability to change cells and DNA, and turn the soul of one creature into another type of being that it wasn’t meant to be. What kind of world would allow for that? He had to ask that question and demand an answer.

  “In the meantime, he’ll be anxious,” Wilson said. “And he’ll miss a few days at work. I’m guessing he’ll get some slack because of last night’s incident and being considered a hero within the department for a few more hours. We can come up with an excuse for his absence, and call it in.”

  “And he’ll need some rest, without company and noise,” another female said. “You all have things to do.”

  “Indeed we do,” Dylan replied soberly.

  “Right,” Wilson and Dana said, one after the other.

  Cameron felt them leave. The temperature of wherever they had put him dropped noticeably. But one body remained, the feel of its presence similar to standing near a light that had been burning for quite a while.

  “I don’t suppose you’ll listen to any advice,” the unknown female said softly.

  Cameron opened his eyes again to return the narrowed gaze of a gray-haired woman with a kind, concerned face. How right she was, he thought. Despite the savageness of the pain racking him, and feeling like death warmed over, rest was the farthest thing from his mind.

  * * *

  Abby now supposed that being good at stealth had to be a characteristic indicative of her animal side. She kept running, making sure the hunters were on her tail, close enough to see her movement, yet far enough away for them to be uncertain about what they had their sights on. She wondered if they’d shoot anyway.

  She ached with the effort of ignoring the pull of the moonlight. Hunting had taken on a whole new meaning beneath it. But someone close to her had been shot, and either Sam had pulled the trigger, or one of the other men was vying for the privilege.

  Cameron had been hurt, the female wolf had told her. She had no idea why that she-wolf had bothered to pass along the information. Possibly out of sympathy for another creature who wasn’t completely one thing or another, and who hadn’t yet reached her potential either way.

  Had Abby Stark been a wolf playing at being human all this time, with only small hints about being different as a starting point on the road to enlightenment? Hell, where was the certainty about that now? Where were the claws, the fur, the teeth, if moonlight ruled her, as Cameron had insinuated?

  How would any of that amount to being a chip off the old guy’s block?

  Maybe she had been exposed to a wolf bite once upon a time, and Sam hadn’t told her. Truth be told, she’d always been different from Sam. In terms of inherited family traits, that left her mother as a role model in absentia. For a long time, she had imagined herself to be like her mother. Now look. Chances were good she carried the blood of some other species in her veins, and hadn’t a clue as to how it had gotten there.

  A bite she didn’t remember had to be it. Or a scratch she had failed to locate. It all went back further than her tryst with Cameron. It had to.

  “Cursed,” Abby said, figuring she’d have to dig deeper into family matters and mythology in order to find out about herself and how this might have happened.

  Perhaps a person could become wolflike without really being one because of so much time dealing with them. Maybe too much sympathy did the trick. What had t
hat wolf said moments ago? That the fact of having no bite marks explained some things. Did that mean a ring of scar tissue made from a wolf’s teeth would have proved a point she wasn’t aware of?

  “Don’t know shit.”

  Clearly she had to get help with a few important details, such as what would happen to her now, and what to expect. Like how to get around Sam in fairly close quarters, in order to pick up her things, when she despised him more than ever.

  Moving out of her apartment was the first step to separate herself from the hunters, and yet was that an option if she wanted to keep tabs on the game? What better way to find out what went on, and about Sam’s plans, than being an insider?

  Could she face Sam knowing he might have shot Cameron?

  She was livid about the way things had turned out, and wasn’t sure she’d be able to pretend things were okay, even to use Sam for information she might in the future share with the wolves.

  Help was needed, now, tonight, so that she’d gain some bearings. The she-wolf she had met had to lead her to Cameron, or to others like her.

  And how would a wolf pack react to having a hunter in their midst, even if that hunter wasn’t completely human any longer?

  She ran faster, putting more distance between herself and the hunters. The park stank of wolf presence. She stank of sweat and blood and the metallic edge of too much uncertainty. One of these warring factions—man and wolf—would eventually kill her.

  Caught up in this insane dilemma, Abby let her mind wander. Suddenly her steps faltered. She smelled something strange and looked up in time to see a heavy net of knotted rope descending from above to swallow her up.

  Chapter 17

  Fighting like a tiger to get free of the heavy net encapsulating her, Abby struggled and pushed against the rope, kicking and tearing at what held her in a crouched position.

  “No use burning off more energy,” Sam said. “You tripped the wire.”

  She didn’t stop struggling.

  “What are you doing here, anyway, Abby, when I told you to go home? See how that little rebellion panned out?”

  “Is this how you catch them, Sam, before you shoot at close range? You drop a net?”

  Irritation deepened Sam’s voice. “Actually, we prefer to catch some wolves alive.”

  She didn’t know that, and was horrified by the thought.

  “You don’t need to know any more than you already do,” Sam said. “That part isn’t your business. The question I have is about what the hell you’re still doing out here, and who it might benefit?”

  Abby looked up at her father through the holes in the net. Her heart raced. She was tired of being out of breath.

  “Something has happened to you, Abby.” Sam stood over her imperiously. “Mind telling me what that is?”

  “Mind getting this thing off me first?”

  Sam made a motion with his hand to stay the hunter on his right and said, “Consider it penance for being foolish twice in one night.”

  Abby swallowed hard, disliking Sam more than ever.

  “It’s heavy, Sam.”

  “So are your recent transgressions.”

  “My transgressions? I’m only running around in a park where you make a habit of killing things.”

  Sam went quiet. Abby’s heart stuttered.

  Then Sam spoke to the other hunter. “You go on. I’ll deal with my daughter.”

  With those directions, Abby’s mind moved on to one relatively new thread in particular—the werewolves that hunters caught in nets, and how Sam disposed of them after they’d been trapped. She wondered what it felt like for innocent Weres to look up at the instruments of their death without being able to do anything about it because they couldn’t even state their case without a human voice.

  All those beautiful pelts, not all of which came from criminals.

  Her mind skipped to Cameron, whose skin hadn’t been completely covered by the fur these hunters coveted when he had shifted. She wondered why he didn’t have a full pelt, and what hunters might do to a catch like Cameron, with no pelt money coming. Throw him back? Kill him, anyway?

  How did Sam dispose of his kills so neatly, and so close to thousands of people?

  “Let me up,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “Before I start shouting and scare everyone.”

  Sam stepped closer, towering over her, his stance as imposing as the rifle in his left hand. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I told you I’m sick.”

  “That’s not the whole story.”

  “Isn’t it enough?”

  “You’re in the way, Abby. I’ll take you back and lock you in. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

  “I want to talk now.”

  Sam didn’t free her. He continued to stare down at her with a curious expression etched into the lines of his rugged face.

  “I really am sick,” she said.

  Sam’s response hit like a hot poker to her soul. “Your mother wasn’t stable, but I thought you’d missed that gene. I’ve watched you for signs of imbalance all these years, and don’t like what I see tonight.”

  Abby’s eyes met his. She felt the darkness of dread coming on. “What did you say?”

  “You’ve been teetering lately, been off the norm and not willing to listen. You’ve been wandering in places where you don’t belong, just like she did.”

  Abby blanched, and felt the blood drain from her face. “The first time you mention my mother, and it’s to cough up a thing like that? Off the norm, Sam? What does that mean?”

  His face came closer. The scrutiny was intense. “Let’s hope you’re not too much like her, after all. Because...”

  “Because what?”

  “We’d have to do something about that.”

  It was an ominous reply with no follow-up or further explanation, and it left a hole in Abby’s heart. She stopped breathing long enough for her lungs to burn. Flames of the flash fire she’d experienced both in the moonlight and in Cameron’s arms began to rip their way through her chest. Her limbs felt heavy. Dizziness returned with a brief whirl of vertigo.

  But Sam had nothing more to offer, no insight to guide her toward understanding, other than allowing her a flat-out inner acknowledgment of having been right in the previous assumption that Sam had not loved her mother.

  We’d have to do something about that...

  Angry enough over this to want to shout out what Sam could do with his hunters, and where to stick them, Abby nonetheless felt tears welling in her eyes—hot, salty tears. Her mother had always been a sacred thought, a long-held love and a thing apart. Sam, after all this time of prolonged silence, wanted to defile that image.

  She’d been tough, or had tried to be, living among Sam and his varying band of hunters. But at her core, deep down inside, lay a spot that resisted toughness and needed to be filled with light and love.

  An angry growl rose from within her that Sam might not have heard. Another noise got his attention. Someone shouted in the distance, and Sam’s face solidified into an expression that Abby classified as feral.

  He sent her a pitiful look. “You think those things over, and I’ll be back.” He took off, leaving her entangled in the rope without pausing to witness the pop of a claw, as narrow and as sharp as any knife’s point, ripping through the tip of the finger Abby raised to flip him off with.

  So, it was true. This was proof, at last.

  “No mistake.”

  More growls bubbled up from her throat to combine with Abby’s startled exclamation over the ungodly appearance of the claw. The growl was echoed someplace close by. Choking back a reaction, Abby turned her head toward rustling sounds heading her way, her sight clouded by a haze of unspilled tears.

  “Cameron?” she called
out hopefully as two werewolves, the biggest she had ever seen, rushed forward, fully furred up, their pelts thick and spiky, their eyes glowing like hot coals.

  It wasn’t Cameron, though. Of course it couldn’t be, because he’d been shot. He’d been hurt.

  “Who the hell are you?” she demanded as they slashed the rope with their claws and bit through the knots with their teeth, shredding the net in a few quick, crazy minutes.

  She thought seriously about screaming when they reached for her. Loud noise would bring Sam and a hunter or two running. But she’d recently found three wolves to help break the spell she’d been under. Three wolves out of three hadn’t made a move to harm her in any way.

  And these two, completely different for all she knew, had their paws on her arms, and were staring at the claw she still held raised.

  “Not human,” Abby said in a voice reflecting full knowledge of that fact. “And in need of help.”

  In hindsight, as they pulled her to her feet, she might have asked, “Good guys, or bad guys?” first, before declaring herself one of them. Their grip was rough and tight, one wolf per arm. On her feet again, they hustled her away, heading for the shadows, loping east, away from the direction Sam had taken when he’d left her alone and vulnerable in the middle of a virtual minefield of werewolves.

  As she now saw it, good guy or bad, one outcome looked pretty much like another.

  * * *

  As soon as the woman with the kind voice had exited the room, Cameron got to his feet, fighting for a decent breath in a system that had betrayed him by keeping that breath from him.

  He was in a room—a bedroom lit by one tiny lamp and thin ribbons of moonlight streaming through louvered slats in an open window. The room came furnished with an oversize bed, two small tables, a large wooden bureau with a mirror above it and an upholstered chair.

  He was alone in the strange room, and couldn’t stand up straight. He had been shot, they’d said, by a silver bullet. It hurt to think about that.