WereHuman - The Witch's Daughter: Consortium Battle book 1 (Wyrdos)

by Gwendolyn Druyor

  WEREHUMAN

  The Witch's daughter

  Consortium Battle book one

  By

  Gwendolyn Druyor

  Wyrdos.net

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  Enjoy!

  Gwendolyn

  Text Copyright © 2016 by Gwendolyn Druyor

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter One

  “Mom!”

  The young boy’s piercing voice woke Laylea from a fitful sleep. She shivered and blinked. No brothers snuggled up next to her. Last night Mama had kissed her goodbye before tucking her makeshift bed into a corner of the wraparound porch.

  “She’s tinkering, Bailey.” A man with blue eyes that matched the little boy’s joined him in the doorway. He smelled like a nap.

  The boy reeked of soap. Laylea crinkled her nose as he leaned in to get a closer look at her. Peeking out through the folds of a baby blue towel, Laylea could see the gray of early morning sky beyond the two humans. Bells jingled lightly against the doorway and she shivered again at the cold breeze. A yawn stretched through her whole body and she tucked her nose back under the old towel.

  “Woodford found it.”

  Laylea cracked an eye. The skinny boy pointed behind her. She smelled earthy warmth and turned her egg sized head. She and the ratty towel lay tucked in amongst the plastic grass of an Easter basket. Behind her, one enormous brown and black paw rested on the edge of her basket. She followed the leg up to a massive barrel chest and on up to the droopy jowls and tired eyes of a mutt. She reached toward him for a nuzzle.

  The hound let out one low bark and she jumped backwards, toppling out of her bed. He was on her in an instant. She yelped. But the warm, soft hands of the man lifted her away and she was curled into the dad’s chest in a moment.

  “Mom won’t let us keep it,” the boy fearlessly wrapped himself around the big mutt.

  “She will let us bring a scared puppy into the house though, Bailey.”

  The dad carried Laylea through the doorway as the little boy grabbed her towel. Underneath the towel, tucked into the wicker, he found the note in a small white envelope with their names written on the outside; Clark, Bailey, and Dr. Sher.

  “Dad, there’s a letter!”

  “So bring it inside. I don’t think all the neighbors want to hear our business.”

  “Old Lady Rucker does.”

  Bells jangled as the front screen slammed shut between the boy and his dad.

  Laylea craned her neck, looking around in the dark house. The front hallway led to carpeted stairs straight ahead. One side opened off to a brown room with softness everywhere. The man turned away through an archway that led to a green room centered on one giant wood table. The house smelled fluffy. Not like the basement at all or the car.

  “Clark Hillen, where did you get the puppy?”

  The dad stopped at the sound of a voice coming from the dark hallway beside the stairs. Laylea dropped her head back over the man’s arm to sniff out the stern voice and he fondled her velvet ears with a hand that smelled of food. Her belly told her to twist around and suck on his finger, hoping for milk even though Mama hadn’t given her any in days.

  “No, Clark.” A tall woman with hair a shade darker than Laylea’s pale fur and arms full of lavender scented bedding stopped at the archway to the table room. “You can’t keep it.” The smile that wrinkled the corners of her brown eyes faded when she looked away. “Bailey, shut the front door.”

  This woman was clearly the mama and alpha of this little pack. Laylea tucked her tail and lowered her head as the woman came close to lift one of her paws with a finger. She talked tough but her touch was gentle. And she smelled like dogs, lots of dogs. Beyond her control, Laylea’s tail popped out and thumped against the dad’s chest.

  “How old is it, Mom?” Bailey bounced over to the trio with the big dog on his heels. The boy stuck his muzzle up into the puppy’s face. She licked his nose, remembering no teeth, like Mama said. He giggled. “There was a letter in the basket.”

  The mom dumped the laundry into his arms so she could take the envelope. He was barely able to hold it all.

  “Take the laundry upstairs and then come join us in the kitchen. She’s a few weeks old. Barely old enough to leave her mother, I’d guess.”

  Bailey charged out of the room yelling back at them. “Wait for me!”

  The parents didn’t bother to respond. They carried Laylea through flapping wooden doors into the most delicious room she’d ever smelled. This room was filled with silver and stone surrounded by pale green walls. A silver kettle whistled on the stove and the dad jostled Laylea jogging over to pull it off the flames. He poured water into two travel mugs as the mom pulled ceramic bowls out of a cabinet and dished something warm and cinnamony into them. She stopped the dad before he could turn away again.

  “Here.”

  The alpha slipped a cold metal tube into the dad's pocket. Laylea craned her head around to sniff the new tube resting beside a warm one already clipped to the fabric.

  The dad shifted Laylea to look at the tubes himself. “Another new pen, Sher?”

  “The rifling is quieter.” She plucked the warm pen from his pocket and tucked it away, glancing at a flat disk on her wrist as she did. “Less noise to distract anyone from looking at the focal isolator.”

  The mom scooped crunchy bits from a bin on the floor into a plastic bowl which she set on the counter beside the mugs despite the brown hound’s big eyes begging her to give it to him. The dad added a spoonful of powdered creamer to her mug even as the mom lifted it to her lips.

  “Do you ever consider, when you’re tinkering,” he reached one handed into a cabinet and pulled a plastic bowl from the top shelf, “making tech that could take down the Consortium?

  “Clark.” Laylea cringed at the mom’s voice. “I gave that all up six years ago when you a
sked.”

  The dad squeezed Laylea closer. He bent and dipped his bowl into the bin of crunchy bits. “I didn’t ask you to give it up.”

  “I can’t fight them and keep Bailey safe.” Sher took the little dish of kibble from Clark and turned away to the kettle. She dribbled a little water into the bowl.

  Laylea looked up at the warm man’s chin. His neck had gone tense and she could feel him struggling to calm his breath. His voice rumbled against her tiny body when the mom turned and reached past him to set the bowl on the counter.

  “You say you want out of the fight,” he said, “but you keep developing tech.”

  A breath hovered between them. Then her bright eyes turned up to his.

  “This is just to protect my family.” Sher choked on the last word.

  She would have walked away but Clark pulled her to him with his free arm. Laylea had heard tears in her voice but there were none in her eyes. Her head rested on Clark’s chest and it and Laylea both rose as the dad took in a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry. You are protecting us.” He kissed the top of the mom’s head and whispered into her hair. “And them.”

  Sher nodded stiffly. She pulled out of Clark's arms just as Laylea risked reaching out to lick her nose. The puppy missed.

  Sher turned away to hold a fist out at the hound. “Sit, Woodford,” she said, the stern back in her tone.

  The big dog sat.

  The dad took a sip from his travel mug and smoothed the fur on Laylea’s head just as Bailey bust through the swinging door hollering, “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here!”

  The noise scared Laylea so much she piddled on the nice dad.

  He yelled. “Whoa!” In a lower, slightly less panicked tone he said, “No. Not in the house, little girl. You need some fresh air.” He ran through the house and out the front door with her. When they got to the grass in front of the porch, he set her down.

  The grass tickled her belly. Laylea chewed at it. She looked up when he started talking again.

  “You go to the bathroom outside. Never in the house. Okay?”

  Laylea watched the dad closely. She yipped, waiting to see what happened next in this game.

  “Here, Dad.” Bailey tore down the steps in a tangle of legs.

  Laylea yipped at him but he just tossed his dad a small towel. It was wet and warm and felt like Mama’s tongue when Clark rubbed it on her belly. It reminded her of how Mama would encourage her and her brothers to relieve themselves after they ate. Her bladder relaxed.

  The commotion Bailey and Dad made scared her again but she was pretty sure they were happy with her so she wagged her tail and danced around. Then she found herself in the dad’s arms again, going back into the kitchen.

  “Mom, the letter.” The boy kissed Laylea’s head before he went around to his stool. He picked the letter up from where Sher had dropped it and held it out.

  The mom ignored him. She set a bowl in front of each of the boys as they settled at the counter, leaning down to reward Woodford at last with his breakfast. She directed the dad to set Laylea on the counter right in front of a bowl of soft mushy kibble. Laylea tripped forward on the slick plastic placemat beneath her tiny paws and buried her face in the food.

  Bailey giggled. When his eyes were firmly on Laylea, his mother took the letter. She settled on her stool, took a bite, and unfolded the single sheet of notebook paper.

  She took another bite and washed it down with tea before Bailey complained.

  “Mom.”

  A grin tugged at her lips. She didn’t raise her eyes from the letter. “Hm?”

  “Mom,” he repeated, dragging the word out until she flicked her eyes in his direction. “Out loud.”

  “Oh,” the mom’s coldness melted for a moment and she earned another groan from her son by saying, “why didn’t you say so?”

  Then she read.

  Dear Hillens,

  I met you several years ago. You won’t remember the incident but your kindness saved my life. I hope that your kindness can extend to my little Laylea as well. There is an evil man who would do experiments on Laylea and her brothers. Because of this, they have spent their lives thus far in a basement not seeing anything of the world. Two days ago this man found our sanctuary. We escaped but I dare not foster any of my pups together or to people that know me. I know Laylea would be safe with you and that you are up to the challenges that raising her will present. She is a very special little girl. Please take care of her. Though I am heartbroken to leave my puppy, I am comforted knowing she will be as happy as Bailey and Woodford were when I knew them. She is six weeks old and just weaned.

  With Great Appreciation for whatever help you can give her,

  Mama

  The boys scraped their bowls clean while Sher folded the letter and grabbed a few bites of her food. Laylea mashed her muzzle around the mess in her bowl trying to lick up every last crumb. Down on the floor Woodford stared up at the silent family, hoping against experience for more.

  “That explains why she wasn’t dropped at your clinic.” Clark picked up the three clean bowls, leaving Laylea to keep working on hers.

  Sher tucked the letter back into its envelope, moved, but always and forever practical. “Your big heart gets us too much attention, Clark. Bailey, get your backpack.” The boy started to protest but she cut him off. “Your dad and I will have to discuss this before any decisions are made. I’ll take her to work today and check her over, see if she’s ready to start her vaccinations.”

  Clark laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder. He spoke in a low, quiet voice. “It really sounds like she’s one of us, Sher. No past. No family.”

  She brushed off the hand. “Don’t try to manipulate me.” She finished her tea and handed it to him for a refill. “It sounds to me like once we’ve got her vaccinated she should go to one of your hermits off in the wilderness. Much less likely this scientist will find her there than here in the middle of town.”

  Clark scoffed at her. “You’re adorable. This town has five hundred people in it. And we came here because it is so far from anywhere.” He scooped Laylea into his arms and kissed her nose sadly. “But you get her healthy and I’ll take her on my next delivery. If she belongs with one of the woodsfolk, at least I’ll be able to keep an eye on her.”

  Bailey clambered up onto a stool to reach his mother. He solemnly laid a hand on her shoulder and intoned, “Mom, Laylea should stay with us.”

  Sher grabbed her son and dangled him upside down. “No conditioning the family!” she hollered.

  Through his giggles, he hollered back, “Except for shoe.”

  She swung him up and kissed his forehead. “Except for shoe.”

  When she said the word, deep and quiet, Bailey looked at the floor.

  “Your shoe is in the air, son,” Clark pointed out.

  Sher let the kid’s feet drop back to the floor. He found his balance before he said, “Yeah, but looking down is the response you really want.” The boy squeezed his mother tight and dashed out of the kitchen, the swinging door flapping in his wake.

  The parents stared after their son. Laylea tried to grab another lick of her bowl as Clark cleared it to the sink. “I don’t think your conditioning has taken on that kid at all.”

  “That’s okay, as long as he does look down.”

  “Yeah,” he raised his eyebrows at her, “but it’s making me question your magical abilities.”

  Sher grabbed the placemat from the table and tossed it into the sink. “That’s not magic. It’s science.”

  “You keep saying that, dear, maybe it'll make it true.”

  The mom left the kitchen yelling instructions to her son.

  Laylea yipped. Clark looked down. “Hello, Laylea. Don’t be scared. We’ll protect you, one way or another.” The dad wiped her face and paws with a wet cloth while she tried to chew on his bright yellow bracelet. “Now. How do you feel about bicycles?”

  Laylea sang. Her tail thumped wildly in the dad�
�s arms.

  Chapter Two

  Trask stopped at the mirror just inside the door. With a sharp intake of breath, she turned to it. She smoothed her black bangs and straightened the new tortoiseshell glasses that set off her eyes while hiding much of her face. Done, she turned to examine the room designated as her new office. The Biotech team was scheduled to start the move from the temporary lab they’d been working in for eight years to this new state of the art facility on Monday. She clearly planned to get the lay of the land first. First was good. All the projects her division worked on were firsts. They were perfecting the human condition. She laughed quietly and straightened the deep gray suit jacket over her matching pencil skirt.

  This office was vastly different from the rest of the sterile building. The walls had been paneled with a dark wood wainscoting. The entire length of the back wall held a window looking out over a large courtyard with paths winding through bright green grass, trees and flowers. The window had a deep, cushioned inner sill and warm gray curtains with a brocade pattern of birds. This was designed to be a room where one could feel comfortable and relax. Trask hated it.

  A large partner desk stood in the middle of the room with her monitor, keyboard and file boxes of supplies on one side, ergonomic black and steel rolling chair pushed neatly in. The far side of the desk held a laptop set on a calendar blotter covered in writing. Standard issue office supplies were arranged in a neat, almost OCD semi-circle around the blotter. Scattered haphazardly around the rest of the far side were spiral-bound notebooks covered in doodles, a tipping bird toy, a pencil cup filled with packs of black jack chewing gum, a set of wooden perpetual motion balls, and a plastic buffalo.

  Trask set her briefcase on the desk. She pulled her cell phone out of it as she ran her fingers over the scars on her forehead. She was scanning through her contacts list when Walter drummed his fingers on the window finally revealing himself in the corner of the room where he perched on the windowsill behind a set of oak finished file cabinets.

  “There doesn’t appear to be any mobile reception in the building.” He spoke with a clipped British accent.