Bayou Wolf

by Debbie Herbert

  The pump canister.

  Of course. Tallulah grabbed the cell phone out of her purse to text Tombi. Come to farmhouse. Possible danger. Call sheriff.

  Strong arms grabbed her from behind and squeezed her ribs so tight she couldn’t breathe. A putrid scent of fur and disease watered her eyes. Bile rose in the back of her throat.

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” he said in high-pitched glee. “You’re always causing me trouble. Poking your nose in everybody’s business. You’ll die like the others.”

  The others. Jeb’s bloody, torn flesh flashed through her mind. Don’t let him bite you. He’ll finish off what he started months ago when he attacked you.

  “I was going to come after you later,” Russell continued. “But this worked out for the best. Now Payton can watch when I snap your neck in two with my bite.”

  His hands shifted on her arms and then the unmistakable sound of ripped duct tape came from behind. Fear shivered down her arms and she struggled anew. In seconds, he’d bound her hands behind her back at the wrists.

  “You’re a sick asshole.” She kicked at his shins and he yelped, loosening his hold. She wiggled out of his grasp a fraction, only to have him jerk her roughly back against him.

  Russell panted as he struggled to keep her captive. She kicked him again, but he only grunted, absorbing the pain without weakening his grip on her forearm. Whether it was his werewolf nature, or his job carrying timber that developed his muscles—or possibly some combination of both—he overpowered her.

  She tried to scream, hoping—however remote the possibility—that Sheriff Angier might be wandering close by.

  “Shut up,” he said roughly. He slowly moved her, thrashing and kicking, onto the porch, evidently wanting to get her inside the farmhouse before killing her. She could only hope all the men weren’t already deep in the woods, that Payton or some others were still hanging around.

  Russell was lost in a fever, but he had enough sense to try and avoid any witnesses to murder.

  Chapter 17

  It was unnaturally quiet. Had the pack left for their outing without him? Payton wondered. He wasn’t that late. Besides, Matt and Eli had asked to meet with him privately for a few minutes before the wolf run.

  “Anybody home?” Payton called out. “Sorry I’m late.”

  The silence weighed heavy. His voice echoed indecently and his steps sounded obscenely loud on the hall’s wood flooring. He paused, the hackles raising on his arms and scalp. Everyone should have been home already. Some primitive instinct seemed to slow time as his senses sharpened to pick up clues—but there was nothing. No sound. No scent. No movement.

  Cautiously, he returned to the entry and picked up the baseball bat they always kept by the front door. He trudged back down the hall, gripping the bat and ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

  Almost to the kitchen, a sickly sweet scent cloyed the air. It had a faint hint of something medicinal, totally out of place for a home. He walked into the room, bat raised high, but the only thing unusual was a large blue cooler on the table. Payton lowered his bat and raised the cooler lid.

  Vials of blood in premeasured syringes lay scattered atop squared ice cubes like a macabre Picasso work of art. What the hell? He counted. Thirteen syringes...one per pack member. But...why?

  Several syringes containing a clear liquid lay beside the cooler. Drugs? Poison?

  He started toward the den, a knot of dread in his stomach. Whatever awaited in that next room wasn’t going to be good. He breathed in a toxic miasma that numbed his lips and coated his tongue and throat.

  Matt and Eli lay draped across the sofa, bound and gagged, their bodies as inert and lifeless as ragdolls.

  He rushed over to Matt, whose chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. At least he was still alive, though his face was pale and his lips were turning blue. Payton placed his fingers on the side of Matt’s neck and detected a faint heartbeat. A quick glance at Eli confirmed he was also still breathing.

  This had to be Russell’s work. They had no enemies—no outside friends, but no enemies, either.

  The pack avoided doctors and hospitals like the plague, afraid lab tests would uncover their strange DNA. But in this case, an exception was justified. With shaking hands, Payton pulled the cell phone from his pants pocket to dial 911.

  Scuffling and a male human voice sounded by the front door. Had Russell returned, wanting to pick them off one by one as they returned home?

  He suddenly realized the purpose of the blood vials. Russell’s revenge on the pack would be to inject each of them with his tainted blood, a fit punishment for banning him from the group. He wanted them all to be outcasts like him, a tribe of infected misfits.

  The bastard.

  A female voice rang out, although he couldn’t make out the words. Fear burned up his spine and momentarily short-circuited his brain. Tallulah. What the hell was she doing here? He threw down his phone and leaped to his feet, his wolf heart clamoring to fight and protect.

  A blast of wood and steel, and Russell burst through the front door, Tallulah clasped tightly against him in a stronghold, hands bound behind her back. He held a knife against her throat.

  But it was Russell’s eyes, not the knife, that speared Payton with terror. Rimmed with red and shining with madness, they held the promise of death. The lycanthropic fever had reached an advanced stage where no remnant of his friend still existed. Diseased werewolf and man had merged to form a frightening beast, one without a soul.

  Payton took in Russell’s long ragged hair, the fresh streaks of blood where Tallulah had scraped one cheek with her fingernails. Too bad she hadn’t been able to gouge out an eye.

  The large carving knife twitched at the vulnerable hollow of Tallulah’s throat. One wrong word or move on his part, and how easily Russell could plunge in the sharp blade, slicing through soft flesh and into her lungs and throat.

  He swallowed hard and forced his gaze away from Russell and onto Tallulah. How frightened she must be.

  If she was, not a hint of it showed on her face. Her dark eyes were narrowed with fury and determination. His girl wouldn’t go down without putting up a helluva fight. Damn, he loved that about her.

  He loved everything about her.

  He loved her.

  Now, when it was too late, he acknowledged the truth within himself. All that mattered now was saving Tallulah’s life. Even if the residents of the farmhouse turned into a den of murderous wolves, Payton wanted her to escape their doom. After all, it was his fault she was in this position. Meeting him had been nothing but bad news for her.

  “This is between the two of us, Russell. Let her go.”

  He grinned. “Why the hell would I do that? I want you to see the bitch bleed out.”

  Payton fought to control his urge to strike. He’d never reach Tallulah before the knife did its job. “You’ve already got to Matt and Eli and now you’ve got me. We’re the ones responsible for kicking you out. Not Tallulah.”

  “She knows too much.” Russell wasn’t budging an inch.

  “C’mon, let’s fight. Winner takes all. Unless you’re afraid to fight like a man,” he challenged, appealing to his old friend’s pride. “You’re so sick with fever, you’ve probably grown too weak for fighting. Best you can do now is sneak up on other men. Or attack females.”

  Russell’s expression grew tight with crafty suspicion. “I know what you’re trying to do. But it would be fun to torture your female instead of letting her die quickly. Unfortunately, it’s too risky.”

  He read it on Russell’s eyes before his arm moved an inch. He was going to kill her—right here, right now.

  “Wait! I’ve got an idea,” he said desperately. “I saw the vials in the cooler. Let’s go in the kitchen. I’ll inject myself if you let Tallulah go.�
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  Russell hesitated.

  “That’s what you came here for, right? Thirteen vials for each of the thirteen pack members.” He backed down the hallway toward the kitchen, hands held high in surrender. “See? I’m not going to make any sudden lunges at you.”

  “No,” Tallulah screamed. Real terror spiked her voice at last. “Don’t do it, Payton. Please don’t.”

  “It’s okay, baby. Everything’s going to be okay,” he said soothingly.

  They made slow progress. The hallway seemed twice its original length. Tallulah dragged her feet, offering passive resistance, delaying the inevitable. He dared not get too far away from the two of them in case he had to make a sudden last-ditch move to save Tallulah.

  His back slammed against the edge of the kitchen table. Russell moved into a corner, an eager smirk tightening his face. “Go on. Do it. Shoot it up.”

  “No, don’t,” Tallulah begged. “I called Tombi. The hunters will be here any minute.”

  A bluff, or had she really called her brother? No way to know.

  “Hurry,” Russell growled, looking nervously out the kitchen window.

  Payton slowly opened the cooler lid, buying every second possible. “Is there enough blood in the shots to kill us or just make us infected?” he asked, trying to draw out a conversation.

  “How the hell should I know? Do I look like a damn doctor to you?”

  Payton tried again. “What’s in the other syringes? The clear liquid?”

  “Anesthesia.” He threw back his head and laughed. “Stole it from the vet’s office when I went in and sprayed for bugs. Supposed to be strong enough to knock out a horse for surgery.”

  Payton shuddered to think of the damage done to Matt’s and Eli’s bodies—should they recover. “I’m curious. Would you rather us dead or did you envision us all living together with the same fever?”

  “I want you and Matt and Eli dead,” he said flatly. “I’ll be the new alpha.”

  Russell’s brain had turned to complete mush. Maybe he could poke holes in the guy’s logic and reach some kind of compromise with him. “None of the pack will accept you as alpha. They’ll hate you for turning them.”

  He frowned. “No. You’re lying. I’ll be their true leader. They’ll look to me for guidance as the fever grows hotter and deeper.”

  “Russell, listen to me. This won’t work. Let me give you money, as much as you want. Take it and run. Get as far away from Bayou La Siryna as you can. There’s bound to be more of your kind out west. Find them and start your life over.”

  “My life is freaking over. So hurry up. Get one of those syringes.”

  Now what? Payton reached in the cooler and pulled out a syringe. Tallulah shuddered and squirmed harder in Russell’s arms. He held it up to the overhead kitchen fixture, as if interested in examining its putrid contents. Time to make one last effort at trickery before leaping at Russell.

  “How long did it take you to fill all these vials?” he asked, keeping his voice light. “Seems like you lost lots of blood. If it...” He turned swiftly toward the window. “What was that noise?”

  Russell’s hand slacked as he followed Payton’s gaze.

  It was all the cue Tallulah needed. She stomped on Russell’s foot with enough force that Payton heard a bone crack.

  Russell screamed. Tallulah cut out of his grasp and ran to Payton’s side.

  Thank the heavens.

  He kicked at Russell’s right hand, sending the knife clattering to the floor. “Run,” he screamed at Tallulah.

  Russell slammed into him and he went flying across the table, knocking over the cooler. Ice, broken glass and needles scattered and fell. Payton grabbed Russell’s T-shirt and dragged him down with him as he tumbled to the tiled floor.

  Tallulah’s feet were nearby, trying to kick at Russell. Of course, she hadn’t taken the opportunity to run and save herself. Aggravating woman.

  Russell’s breath was hot against his neck.

  No. Don’t get bit.

  Hardly a fair fight if he had to stay constantly on the defensive. He’d rather take a stab wound or bullet than get bit and overcome with lycanthropic fever. Only one way to even the playing field. Payton yielded control of his body to his wolf, effectively shrinking away from Russell’s mouth.

  * * *

  Tallulah desperately scanned the kitchen, seeking a sharp edge to cut through the binding on her wrists. Knives were everywhere, but they did her no good. An old-fashioned meat cutter mounted on the counter caught her eye. That might work.

  She heaved herself up on the counter—no easy feat—and awkwardly tried to position the back of her hands to the metal cutter.

  Snarls and growls erupted below. She paused in her struggle and gaped at the two men—er, wolves—who bared their fangs at one another. Each crouched and had their ears pressed flat against their heads. Quickly, she focused on the task at hand. If she didn’t get her hands free, she’d be reduced to watching from the sidelines.

  That didn’t sit well with her hunter instincts.

  A howl erupted, loud and unnatural in the room’s close confines. Was it Russell or Payton?

  Again and again she contorted her body and arms to fit her bindings over the circular meat cutter until she finally felt a loosening of the bonds. It was working. Her hands stung as she misjudged and accidentally cut into her flesh, but she didn’t slow her efforts.

  Freedom. Tallulah wiggled out of the remaining tape and tried not to wince at the number of bleeding cuts that covered her hands and wrists. Luckily, it didn’t appear she’d severed a major vein. Hopping down from the counter, she recklessly pulled open drawers until she’d located a large boning knife.

  Only then did she return her attention to the snapping wolves. Both of their hackles were raised, and lips curled back to expose fangs and gums.

  Their eyes were locked on each other in what appeared to be a stand-down competition. Perfect. She hid the knife behind her back and silently eased behind the brown wolf with the patch of black fur between its ears—Russell.

  Russell leaped, his giant paws extended toward Payton. Tallulah swing the knife down, stabbing him in the hindquarters.

  A yowl of pain erupted, so loud it felt like it pierced her eardrums. Instinctively, she jumped back, narrowly missing Russell’s snapping jaw.

  Payton took advantage of the opportunity to strike. At the last moment, Russell must have sensed the danger. He turned and the bite landed in his chest instead of the vulnerable neck area.

  They commenced circling again. Payton flicked her the barest of glances, cocking his head to the right. Was he just trying to get her to leave? He did it again, more insistently. She kept the bloody knife in her hand and padded to the next room, just in case there was new danger.

  Two dead bodies, bound at the wrists and ankles, were draped on opposite ends of the couch. Matt and another male that looked vaguely familiar. She pressed her lips tight together to stop their trembling. Were there any more dead bodies sprawled around the old rambling farmhouse? Tallulah rubbed the chill bumps on her arms.

  Matt groaned and moved his head to one side.

  Tallulah gasped and went to him at once. She made quick work of cutting off the bindings and then hurried to the second man. He appeared lifeless, in much worse shape than Matt. She gently laid a hand on his chest and felt the slight rise and fall of his breath. Whew...he lived. Tallulah also cut him out of the bindings. If only they were well, they could help with the battle in the next room.

  They needed medical attention ASAP. Where was a damn cell phone when you needed one? Russell had knocked hers to the ground when he’d attacked outside. Tallulah stood, caught between wanting to search for her phone outside and wanting to run back in the kitchen to help Payton.

  She ran to the kitchen. The
wolves were entangled, rolling and snapping on the floor, sliding on the melting ice. The table and chairs were upended and photos that had hung on the wall had crashed down. The floor was littered with broken glass, syringes and needles.

  Incredibly, Russell appeared to have the upper hand as Payton increasingly struggled from being held to the ground and pinned. Tallulah raised her knife again, but dared not strike, as she was afraid of accidentally stabbing Payton.

  Blood and foam spewed from both their mouths. A gaping wound bled on Payton’s left rib cage.

  He had been bitten.

  The horror of it gutted Tallulah. She fell to the ground on her knees.

  Russell pinned Payton and his jaw came down to clamp over Payton’s neck.

  He was going to kill Payton. He’d be lost to her forever, just like everyone else she had ever loved. White-hot anger washed through her grief, cleansing the stupefying paralysis. She raised her knife, ready to strike again.

  A loud whizzing noise shot past her ear and she froze.

  * * *

  Bits of glass ground into Payton’s back. His strength was spent. Every ounce of muscle and willpower he possessed wasn’t enough to fight against Russell’s crazed determination. The fever lent him a demented power, as if he could withstand any blow and keep fighting.

  Bloodshot, fevered eyes bore into him, triumphant and smug. Russell’s snout lowered, his breath hot and nasty. His lips curled back, exposing tongue and teeth.

  Lower, lower...he couldn’t move. Teeth scraped his neck, a gentle tease.

  This is it. The death bite. Poor Lulu. He’d let her down. Like Bo, he was going to die and leave her alone to grieve. She might not ever recover from this loss. His girl would retreat back to her prickly shell for years, if not forever.

  He closed his eyes. Let the end come. It was better this way. His body burned with a dozen bite marks. He was already infected, his life essentially over. Shudders raked his body. Better death than to become a monster like Russell. Better not to see Tallulah eventually look at him in disgust. Better not to be kicked out of the pack and condemned to a life of solitary banishment.