Bayou Wolf

by Debbie Herbert

She laughed.

  “I’m serious.”

  Tallulah cocked her head to the side and studied his face. Yes, he meant what he’d said. She found it oddly endearing. Old-fashioned, chivalrous and sexy as all get-out. She stuck out a hand. “If you’d like we can just shake hands and call it a night.”

  “Not on your life.”

  He bent down and claimed her mouth, his tongue dancing with hers until she felt weak-kneed and fevered, never wanting it to end.

  He drew back and then rested his forehead on hers. “I better go, Lulu.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, still in a haze. She inserted the key into the lock opened the door and then swiftly turned back to him. “What did you call me?

  “Lulu. Tallulah is a mouthful.”

  She frowned. “I don’t like it. It sounds...undignified.”

  “It’s adorable. It suits you.”

  “Humph.” She shut the door and went to the window, watching as Payton drove off. The man could make her go from joy to irritation in two seconds. And passion? It always seemed to shimmer between them like a promise.

  * * *

  He began his slow descent to a night of freedom—no small feat considering that it was under the noses of over a dozen pack members. Even sleeping, their heightened senses were sensitive to noise. Ever so slowly, he climbed out of bed and padded barefoot out of the bedroom, down the hall and stairs and through the den. At the back door he paused for several minutes, ears alert for the slightest stirring of movement.

  They would never understand.

  The blood thirst churned his gut and would not be sated, no matter how hard he tried.

  Satisfied that the rest of the pack was still asleep, he turned the doorknob with painstaking carefulness. He briefly considered shifting and using the doggie door, but it had an annoying flap that was surprisingly noisy. Carefully, he slipped into the dark cover of night. Even then, he had to exercise extreme caution. He scurried to the hedges at the side of the house and shape-shifted. Bone and sinew twisted and transformed skin to fur. Two legs multiplied to four and his large paws padded on the soil. Belly close to the ground, he crept to the middle of the cotton field, just in case someone had wakened and chanced to look out a window.

  His heart beat more rapidly, pulsing with the conflicting emotions of excitement and revulsion. And then he was free—racing into the woods, tongue panting, senses alive with the smell and sounds of the night.

  It’ll be okay. I’ll find some small animal again. I can control the blood hunger.

  Alabama was a new start. Never again would he kill a human. It was too dangerous for him and for the whole pack. If they ever caught on to his secret, his life would be over. From here on out, he’d content his bloodlust by feasting on small animals.

  And so, once more, he was on the hunt.

  He sniffed and tracked a scent, only to bungle the catch, as several hares took off when he came within a few feet of them. A lone wolf on the prowl was not the natural way of the hunt. They were pack animals for a reason, working together with patience and intelligence to track prey and target the weakest animal in a group.

  He’d been outside for a good while now. Every minute he was out alone, he risked the others realizing his secret. But he couldn’t go back without something to ease the stomach cramps caused by a lack of blood and flesh. He continued hunting, close to the cotton field, reduced to rumbling his snout through leaves to rouse field mice.

  Not how he’d imagined his future. But to admit to the pack that he’d been infected by the fever was unthinkable. They’d haul him away to that so-called rehabilitation compound in the barren desert, although—to his knowledge—no wolf had ever been cured. It would be a fenced-in existence with constant surveillance. A werewolf prison where all were condemned to the equivalent of a life-without-parole sentence.

  He’d rather die.

  Like a dog with a prize buried bone, he circled around to the outdoor memorial decorated with dream catchers. The feathers and ribbons fluttered like agitated ghosts. Just as well the bitch wasn’t present. His chest still smarted from the rocks she’d flung. He’d been lucky not to suffer a serious injury.

  A rustling emerged at the edge of the field, to his left. His ears twitched and his belly rumbled. This sounded like a large, clumsy animal. His mouth salivated at the faint whiff of human.

  Torture—like a glass of cold water waved in front of a man dying of thirst. He hesitated. No harm in going to take a look. It could be one of the other pack members had also violated the new rule of no roaming alone in the woods. He crept toward the noise and the smell.

  A gray-haired man with a long beard tossed dried corn kernels from a burlap sack. A hunter illegally enticing deer.

  He didn’t think. He didn’t plan.

  One moment he was an observer, and the next, he was flying down the field and taking a running leap at the old man. Teeth ripped into flesh, tearing open the jugular vein at the man’s neck. Warm blood oozed down his throat as he greedily swallowed it. He was dizzy with elation and the hunger in his belly ceased its relentless gnaw.

  It was done.

  He sat back on his haunches, full and content. Until he observed the dead man, broken and bleeding, his knapsack of corn spilled into the soil like gold nuggets.

  Not again. What have I done?

  He whimpered and backed away. When this body was discovered, the questions and accusations would begin anew. Disgust roiled in his gut. He hated himself, hated what he had become.

  He slunk back to the farmhouse and briefly considered confessing to the pack. That was one way out of this hell his life had become over the last three years.

  But shame and fear overcame good intentions. He couldn’t live like a caged animal.

  There would be no repeat offense, he vowed. Somehow, he would learn to control the lust for human blood.

  Chapter 4

  Saturdays were the longest days of the week. The Native American Cultural Center, where Tallulah worked, was closed, and that meant an entire day to bide her time with nothing more pressing than housework—which she loathed.

  Tallulah loaded the last of the laundry in the washer and looked out the open window. The sky was washed clear of gray clouds and the earth smelled as if cleansed by last night’s storm. Too gorgeous a day to be stay stuck inside the cabin. A nice long stroll, then back home for a shower before heading to Tombi’s for dinner.

  She ran outside, eager as a child let out for recess, then stopped abruptly, patting the loose strands of hair plastered on her face. They’d strayed from her messy topknot and she wore an old T-shirt and shorts. Fine for housework but... Tallulah hurried back inside, changed into fresh clothes and ran a brush through her hair.

  I am not doing this in the hopes of running in to Payton. She scowled at the mirror before swiping a tube of red lipstick across her lips. This was merely an attempt to avoid looking like a total slob. Since when has that concerned me?

  “Oh, shut up,” she mumbled at her reflection. A spritz of rose perfume and she was off again. She entered the woods, walking briskly, intent on exercise. She flung her arms in wide circles, working out the kinks from her pinched shoulders, which were stiff from scrubbing the bathroom and kitchen floors. No need to tote the heavy backpack during the day.

  Unless she came upon that wolf again.

  Tallulah shook her head. No borrowing trouble this morning. It was her day off, and that meant no shadow-hunting duties as well. Finishing the laundry could wait until evening. A nice day walking in the woods, dinner later with Tombi and Annie, and then she’d curl up with a good book and read until bedtime. She had her Saturday routine down pat.

  So why did that deflate her spirits?

  She pushed the uncomfortable feelings aside. Ever since she’d met Payton, a vague dissatisfactio
n with her quiet, predictable life troubled Tallulah. He meant nothing to her. Nothing. He was a damn lumberjack of all things. Part of a transient crew that could be gone anytime.

  Her sneakers squished in the woods’ muddy patches and her legs were speckled with mud. So much for trying to look presentable. At a fork in the path, she paused. No point in going to Bo’s resting place. The storm had no doubt spoiled her handiwork and she wasn’t in the mood to tidy up the site yet again.

  She continued on until she reached the clearing by the farmhouse. By day it looked quiet and peaceful. No mysterious creatures hovering about. And no sign of Payton.

  Not that she cared.

  A smell of rotten carcass assaulted her nose. Probably a dead deer. Yet a tingle of apprehension chased down her spine and she shivered. A faint, familiar feeling also stirred her memory. Had the wolf killed the animal? If so, at least the wolf wouldn’t be looking at her with those cagey, threatening eyes. Its belly should be full.

  A compulsion to find the source of the foul odor gripped her mind. Tallulah tracked the scent. No special shadow-hunter ability needed for this. It grew stronger and tangier, enough to make her eyes water. She lifted her T-shirt over her nose and breathed out of her mouth as much as possible. Tallulah stopped abruptly at the edge of the field, where flies swarmed low to the ground. This was it.

  She crept closer, not wanting to get too near. Only close enough to glimpse what had died.

  Yellow corn kernels dotted the ground where they’d spilled from a burlap sack. A patch of blue denim, a black T-shirt and a gray beard—the body was human. Bile rose in her throat, caustic and burning. She was used to wisps, trapped souls, Ishkitini and other shadow spirits. Not this carnage of blood, flesh and bone. Did she know the victim? She edged forward for a closer view. The neck was torn open and blood stained the front of the dark T-shirt. Dried globules of red liquid speckled his gray beard. His face was as white as a cotton sheet, as if all the blood had drained out. Even though his features were contorted in pain, she recognized him.

  It was Jeb Johnson, owner of the farm. Evidently, he’d been out illegally baiting deer and something or someone had caught up to him. Killed him. Brutally, at that. But why? Jeb mostly kept to himself—he was a quiet man who worked his land and hunted and fished. A widower, his sons were grown and they seemingly got along well with one another.

  Tawny wolf eyes glittered in her mind’s eye. But even that made no sense. A wolf wouldn’t attack a human unless it was starving and there was no other prey available. These woods were filled with squirrels and rabbits and mice, enough to fill its belly.

  She’d seen enough. Tallulah ran to the farmhouse, intent on reporting the news. Jeb was dead, but the sooner the cops arrived and observed the body, the more clues they might gather to solve the murder. She rapped sharply at the door.

  A handsome, genial male opened the door, raised his brows in surprise and then grinned.

  “Hello, little lady. Can I help you?”

  “There’s a—a...” Her breath grew more shallow and she bent at the waist, catching her breath. “There’s been a murder. Call the sheriff.”

  The grin slipped from his face. “Who? Murder, you say?”

  “Call 911.”

  “Of course.”

  He started to shut the door in her face. Damn, if only she’d brought her cell phone. She never could remember to carry the stupid thing everywhere she went.

  Tallulah threw her weight on the door with her right shoulder and slipped inside. The man was stronger than she was, but her quick maneuver had caught him unaware and she pushed past him.

  At least a dozen men sat around the den, in various stages of undress. A few, apparently, had just arisen. At least half wore only shorts and sported shadows of a beard. The smells of bacon and coffee pervaded from the adjoined kitchen to the left. Payton was nowhere to be found.

  The man who’d answered the door walked in front of her, blocking her view. “Bad news, guys. There’s been a murder.”

  Tallulah stepped to his side and eyed the men.

  “Shit—”

  “Damn it—”

  “What the—?”

  One of the men rose, his forgotten breakfast plate crashing to the floor. “Not again.”

  Tallulah zeroed in on his clean-shaven features. Not again? “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. “Has this happened before?”

  Warning glances passed around the group and an unnatural silence descended.

  A tall man with close-cropped black hair strode her way. She recognized him as the timber crew’s supervisor.

  “Who’s been murdered? Where’s the body?” he demanded. His blue eyes were arctic—cold and piercing.

  “In the field behind your house. Call the cops.”

  No one moved.

  Tallulah stiffened. Their reactions were off. Way off. Any other crowd this size, over half of them would have already whipped out their ever-present cell phones and called the police. Too late, she recalled the strange creature who had entered this very house. The wolf no one claimed to notice. And Jeb’s bloody neck could have been the result of a bite. Chills ghosted up her spine.

  “We’ll take care of everything,” the leader said smoothly. His eyes narrowed. “You look familiar...oh yeah, you’re one of those protestors. Ms. Silver, isn’t it?” He turned to the man who’d answered the door. “Eli, go upstairs and get Payton.”

  Eli immediately bounded up the wooden stairs. The leader gripped her forearm. “Show me where you found the body.”

  “After you call the cops,” she insisted. Bossy men like him couldn’t intimidate her.

  He spoke to one of the guys, his eyes never leaving her face. “Adam, call 911. Now, Ms. Silver, I want to see the body.”

  “You can view it along with the sheriff,” she countered, thrusting out her chin.

  Shock widened his pupils. He was obviously used to being instantly obeyed. At least Adam was on the phone, reporting the murder.

  He released her arm and faced the men. “Everyone go out, divide up and check the field and its perimeter.”

  The men scrambled to follow his orders. Two sets of footsteps clamored down the stairs. Eli and Payton emerged.

  Payton’s blond hair glistened, and tiny rivulets of water fell down his face. He wore jeans, but no shirt. The dark hair on his muscular chest was matted. He was sleek and lean and sexy as hell after his morning shower.

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “Of course it’s you, stirring up trouble first thing in the morning. Should have guessed.”

  “This is no laughing matter,” the leader snapped. “Another body’s been found.”

  Another. Tallulah noticed his choice of words.

  Payton’s face paled underneath his tan. All traces of humor vanished. “No,” he whispered, his voice strangled.

  “So there’s been other bodies? Other murders?” she asked.

  The leader’s jaw clenched. “You’re the only one saying murder. How do you know this person didn’t die from natural causes?”

  She shuddered, recalling the mauled neck, the loss of blood.

  Payton came to her at once. “Come, sit,” he ordered. “You look like hell. Must have been a shock to find the body.”

  He tossed an arm over her shoulders and she leaned into his solid mass, smelling soap and shampoo. Warmth washed over her body and she allowed him to seat her on the beat-up leather sofa in the den. She stared at her hands that violently shook in her lap.

  Payton closed his strong hands over her trembling ones. “Delayed reaction,” he said. “I’m sure the shock is starting to catch up to you.”

  Somehow he understood, even if the dead body’s effect on her nerves surprised even Tallulah. Death and destruction were no strangers to a shadow hunter. But she was us
ed to dealing with animals and spirits—not coming upon a mauled, human carcass.

  Poor Jeb. First, the fire last year that had destroyed most of his cotton crop and damn near bankrupted him. And now...this.

  “Eli and I are joining the others,” the leader said. “Wait for the cops and keep an eye on our guest.”

  “I don’t need anyone to watch over me,” she muttered.

  Payton nodded. “I will, Matt.”

  The door banged shut as Eli and Matt left.

  “You don’t have to babysit me. I’m fine.”

  A ripple of apprehension roiled in her stomach. Maybe they weren’t concerned for her safety at all. Maybe there was something more sinister at play. They seemed in an awful hurry to find the body before the cops.

  “Right. You’re fine. That’s why you’re shaking like a deer staring at the long end of a shotgun.”

  He sat beside her and rubbed her shoulder. She drew a steadying breath. Be smart. Could be Payton was ordered to watch her for damage control. Make sure she didn’t catch them hiding the body or altering the scene.

  “You had a traumatic experience this morning,” he said, continuing to massage her shoulders and neck. “Anyone would be shaken. Don’t act like you aren’t.”

  Tallulah inched away from his touch. She was many things, but a fool she was not. For all she knew, Payton was as untrustworthy as the rest of the timber crew. Just because his kisses curled her toes the night before was no reason to let down her guard.

  “Don’t patronize me,” she snapped. “I’m not the swooning Southern-belle type. I can handle emergencies with logic and calm.”

  Payton’s mouth twisted and he rose from the sofa and paced. Probably stifling the urge to throttle her.

  “Go on and join the others. You know you’re dying to check it out. I can take care of myself.”

  Tallulah glanced around the den that seethed with masculinity—a pool table, large-screen TV, a wet bar, leather furniture and not a knickknack or potted plant in sight. If Payton went outside, she could do a little exploring. There was something very strange about this group of guys, although she couldn’t precisely say what. Their house had a different feel from other homes. A secretive vibe. But perhaps she judged unfairly, her view tainted by seeing the wolf enter. The one no one claimed to have seen—including Payton. Maybe she could convince him to leave so she could snoop around the place and call Sheriff Angier. Tell Payton she needed some alone time to recover from the ordeal of finding the body.