by Cheree Alsop
That wasn’t true. Since the Willards had found me, I had smiled more in the last two days than the rest of my life combined. I had spoken more words than I knew could be said in a day. I had carried on actual conversations that didn’t involve death or blood or stalking techniques. I had been, for the first time in my life, truly human.
But my instinct’s response to the massive population around me was to revert back to the killing machine. At that moment, my hands ached to hit something, to bring normality back by losing myself in the fight. The fight, I knew. The need to win, to defend one’s self or honor, and the ambition to come out on top was something I understood completely. That drive had gotten me to the Third rank over hundreds of werewolves, many of whom were no longer alive. But what good was that drive now?
A scent touched my nose. It was faint, a mere whisper, a brief whiff among the millions in the corridor. But it shot fear into my veins.
I ran through the crowd, barely missing strollers, couples holding hands, and receiving warning glowers from husbands as I juked around their wives on my way back to Alia’s store. I burst through the wide doorway and darted past the strange, circular racks of shirts, sweaters, hoodies, jackets, and coats with my gaze locked on Alia.
It was only when I was almost to her that my focus widened and I saw Isley with her hands clenched into fists, the cups I had smashed sitting in a leaking mess on the counter, and bright orange staining the front of her shirt. She appeared to be in a heated discussion with Alia, whose expression showed complete shock.
Both girls looked at me at the same time.
“You,” Isley said, her eyes narrowing. “Look at what you did!”
She took a step toward me, but Alia grabbed her arm. “Wait. Let me talk to him.”
“You’d better, because I’m about to kill him,” Isley replied.
My first thought was that she meant it literally, my second was for her to bring it on, and my third was that I would snap the feisty blonde like a twig despite her fury. It wouldn’t be a fair fight. I didn’t know when I had started caring about fair fights, but now seemed as good a time as any to develop a conscience.
Anger was evident in Alia’s stride when she crossed to me.
“What were you thinking?” she demanded in a loud whisper.
“Lia, you’re in trouble,” I began.
She cut me off with a wave of her hand toward Isley. “Did you do that?”
“I might have,” I said. I brushed it off. “But it doesn’t matter. What matters is—”
“Zev, you can’t do that to someone and then act like it’s nothing!” Alia said in an exasperated tone. “Isley is my best friend, and you ruined her shirt! She said she tried to give you a drink and you slammed it in her chest and then ran off like a lunatic!”
I wanted to grab Alia’s shoulders and yell in her face to make her listen, but for once, my human side won over my instincts. I took a slow breath, counted to ten, and waited for her to calm down. I could try to force her to listen, in which case she probably wouldn’t because she was the most stubborn individual I had ever met, or I could wait for her to listen on her terms. Even though my heart raced at the danger we were in, I willed rationality to the top.
Alia’s anger changed to frustration and then concern at my silence. I watched the emotions flit across her face one at a time. It felt as though I was learning to speak a different language just from studying her. The subtleties of expression and the depth of emotion the movement of the eyebrows or the tightening of the eyes could cause was astounding. I found myself watching her just to see what would happen next.
“Zev, what’s going on?” she finally asked.
“We’ve been found,” I told her; my voice was far calmer than my instincts wanted.
Her eyes widened. “By them?”
I nodded. “I smell at least one. We need to get out of here. You’ve seen what they can do, and with this many humans in one area, a lot of people are going to get hurt.”
At that moment, Brexton, Jayco, Janie, and Trina came into the store.
“I brought you some chocolates. They were giving away samples,” Janie said as she bounced our way through the clothes.
“This jacket’s awesome. What’s your discount on it?” Brexton asked. He lifted a red and white leather jacket and eyed it appraisingly.
“Guys, now isn’t the time—” Alia began, but she was cut off by a scream.
We all spun. I grabbed the closest weapon I could find, a pole designed to get clothes hangers from the high hooks overhead. I raised it, ready to attack, and paused when I saw Trina starting at Isley’s shirt.
“What happened to you?” Trina asked in horror.
Isley rolled her eyes and pointed at me. “Ask the bodyguard.”
All attention turned to me.
“Why are you holding that clothes-getter thingy like a weapon?” Jayco asked. “Are you afraid Isley’s going to attack you? Because she might. She’s a little scary.”
“Shut up, Jayco,” Isley spat.
I lowered the pole and told myself that everyone was fine. They might be upset at me, but they were safe for the moment, and that was all I needed to know. Embarrassment filled me at how everything looked, at the way I had damaged Isley’s shirt, the pole I held, the tension in my muscles, and my fighting stance. No wonder they stared at me like some monster; that’s what I was.
A scent touched my nose and I turned to see a werewolf standing in the wide doorway. All other emotions drained from me except one, fear for Alia.
Chapter Three
It was him, the werewolf from the night before that I hadn’t killed. His long hair, ratty clothes, and bare feet made him stand out from the humans who walked past unaware of their danger. The smell of wet dog and musty werewolf swirled with the currents of the store’s heater.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alia follow my gaze to the guy in the entrance and pause. The sour smell of her sudden fear rolled through the room.
“Zev,” Alia said with a question in her tone.
“I’ll take care of it,” I replied levelly.
“But Zev,” she began and then hesitated.
I glanced back at her, careful to keep the werewolf in my view. Without taking her eyes off the intruder, she gestured toward her friends who watched our quiet exchange with puzzled expressions.
“Is he homeless?” Brexton whispered to Jayco.
“I’m not sure. He looks homeless,” Jayco whispered back.
“Look at his feet,” Trina said in a louder voice.
The werewolf glanced at his feet and then at mine. I would have smiled at the ridiculousness of it all if it wasn’t for the threat he posed.
I held out a hand toward Alia, motioning for her to stay put. “I’ve got this,” I told her far more calmly than I felt.
I crossed to the werewolf. Half of me hoped he would turn tail and run so I could chase him out of the mall and away from human eyes, but the other half hoped he would hold his ground and give me the outlet I needed so badly.
I kept myself carefully between the werewolf and the others when I approached so he wouldn’t spook in their direction. The last thing I needed was for him to grab one of her friends and hold him or her captive. Werewolves weren’t known for being very merciful to their hostages.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded in a growl that rumbled through the store.
“Dang, I’d listen to him,” Janie said from somewhere behind me.
Warning tolls sounded, spiking my instincts and bringing the wolf closer to the surface. He had breeched my territory and he would pay for it. The only thing I needed to know was if he had gone running back to the Masters with his tail between his legs in the hopes of receiving a pardon for not bringing me in.
“Are they coming?” I asked, my voice sharp. “Did you lead them here?”
The werewolf looked me up and down. His dark hair was a matted tangle in his eyes. The feral smell of him filled the store; by the ex
pressions on the faces that passed behind him, I wasn’t the only one who was aware of it.
The werewolf’s silence unnerved me. For all I knew, the others were at the Willards’ residence at that moment, taking the Masters’ anger out on Alia’s mother and siblings. I took another step forward and barked, “Why are you here?”
His eyes widened and he launched himself at me.
Trina screamed and I heard the others scrambling to get back as the werewolf tackled me to the floor. I kicked out and sent him flying over my head. He hit the ground on all fours and was back up and running at me, his feet barely touching the floor. I jumped forward and met him in a jarring slam that sent us both into a tiered table of pants. The table broke beneath us and collapsed.
I rolled when I hit the ground and threw the werewolf off me. He landed in a rack of shirts. The moment I pushed to my feet, he dove for my knees. Instead of avoiding the tackle, I let it happen. My back and shoulders hit the ruined tables with a bang that knocked the wind from me, but it also loosened his grip. I turned, elbowed him in the face, snaked my arm around his neck, and planted my knee in his back. I pulled up until I heard a grunt of pain escape him.
“Tell me what I need to know,” I growled in his ear. “Did you run to the Masters?”
“No,” he gasped past my tight hold. “I didn’t, honest. I left like you said.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. We weren’t in danger. Alia’s family was safe, at least for the time being. Other werewolves weren’t coming.
“Should I call the cops?” Brexton asked.
“No, wait,” Alia said.
“Is that the guy who broke into your house?” Isley asked.
I didn’t hear Alia’s reply.
The werewolf’s breath gurgled in his throat. I loosened my hold just enough to let him breathe.
“Why are you here?” I demanded.
“To-to warn you,” he said.
Confusion filled me. “If you didn’t tell the Masters what happened, what is there to warn me about? We’ll be ready for the next attack.”
“There won’t…there won’t be a next attack,” he said, his voice tight.
His words made no sense. I let him go and shoved him so that he rolled over onto his back. I glared down at him. “What are you talking about?”
He rubbed his red throat and scowled up at me. “What happened to the mercy you showed at the house?”
“You were supposed to leave,” I replied, my tone heated. “You weren’t supposed to come back. This isn’t your home.”
“It’s not yours, either,” the werewolf shot back.
I glanced up, aware that we weren’t alone in some fighting pit in the Lair. The gazes I met were wide and startled. Janie looked as though she was going to cry. Brexton stood closer, his stance one of readiness in case things got out of hand. Alia waited just behind him, her hazel eyes bright with concern and fear. We both knew what a werewolf’s appearance could mean. It was that look that decided me.
I held out a hand. “Get up.”
The werewolf’s gaze filled with suspicion. “Why?”
I grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. Isley and Trina moved behind Jayco as I shoved the werewolf ahead of me toward the back of the store.
“Is there another way out of here?” I asked over my shoulder.
“The door on the left will lead you to the loading alley,” Alia replied. “But it’s locked. Let me get the key and—”
I forced the door to open and shoved the werewolf through.
“And he just broke the lock. What is going on?” Isley demanded.
I shut the door behind me and left Alia to deal with her friends. I had information to learn, and I didn’t want to let Alia see me do it. The last thing I needed was for her to fear me instead of the real threat.
I threw the werewolf against the brick wall.
“Start talking,” I commanded.
He straightened and then bent over with his hands on his knees. “I guess I don’t need to question why you were Third,” he muttered.
“Shut up about that,” I barked. “Tell me what I need to know. Is Alia’s family in trouble?”
At that, the werewolf straightened again and said in a pained voice, “That’s the right question.”
I took a step toward him to let him know how serious I was about getting answers, but he raised his hands.
“Cool it. This wasn’t supposed to get out of hand.”
I stared at him. “It wasn’t? You show up in Alia’s store. In her store! And you expect me to be okay with it?” I folded my arms and felt the pull of torn stitches along my shoulder. The sensation made me even more frustrated. “And then you attacked me. Tell me how that wasn’t supposed to get out of hand!”
The werewolf shook his head. “I’ll admit that wasn’t my finest moment.”
I scoffed.
He looked up and met my eyes. His carried the same haunted depths I knew were reflected in my own. His voice was quieter when he said, “Can you blame me? We’ve been trained to fight our entire lives. How can I stand by and not attack when you were so obviously ready to do so?” He shook his head and his voice was sad when he said, “Instinct, especially that created instead of born, is nearly impossible to deny.”
I thought about my walk through the mall and the voice that told me to do horrible things to the humans who walked it with me.
“I don’t know if it really is instinct, or the Masters,” I admitted aloud.
The werewolf nodded and leaned against the wall. “I think their goal was to drown out our instincts with their own form of reasoning. It’s taken being away for me to realize just how deep into it we were.”
I let myself process his words for a moment. He folded his arms and allowed me my silence.
Footsteps crossed to the door whose lock I had broken. It opened with a tiny squeak.
“Zev?” Alia asked in a tight voice as if she was afraid of what she would find.
When her eyes locked on mine, such relief filled them that it made my knees go weak. She had truly, genuinely been concerned about me. I wasn’t in a place to be able to handle that.
“We’re alright,” I told her gruffly past the knot in my throat.
“Are you sure?” Her eyes flitted to the werewolf and then back to me. “Really sure?”
I nodded. “Tell your friends not to call the cops.”
“I did,” she said. A small shadow of a smile touched her lips. “But they really wanted to.”
That brought an answering smile to mine. “I’ll bet. I can’t say I blame them.” I glanced at the werewolf and then back. “We shouldn’t be long.”
She nodded and disappeared back through the door.
“What was that?” the werewolf asked.
“That was Alia,” I replied dryly.
He shook his head. “No. That smile.”
I lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “She tends to do that sometimes. It’s a human thing.”
He gave me a straight look. “Not from her, from you. You smiled at her. It was like you were one of them.”
I watched him closely as I reviewed my brief conversation with Alia. I had smiled, and it wasn’t the first time. At their house, I had done so many times, and still not nearly as much as they did. Smiles were rare things at the Lair and quickly wiped away by the reality of our duties. There really wasn’t anything to smile about.
“You’re part human,” I told the werewolf. I couldn’t hide the exasperation that filled my voice. I didn’t want to admit how much his observation shook me. Had I changed so much in just a few days? “You can smile.”
His lips lifted in a snarling attempt at it. Between his long, tangled hair and ratty beard, the whites of his teeth flashed in the sunlight that filtered into the alley. The smile didn’t touch his eyes and his teeth were bared too much like a wolf. The expression made my muscles tighten.
“Stop it,” I told him. “You look ridiculous. That’s not a smile. Y
ou have to feel it to smile.”
I shook my head. It was perhaps the most ludicrous conversation I’d ever had. My patience was wearing thin. “Why are you here if you didn’t go to the Lair?”
His lips fell and his solemn expression returned. He rubbed his throat in an unconscious gesture. “I found out why the Masters loosened their hold on the Lair.”
That wasn’t where I thought the conversation would go. “What are you talking about?”
“Remember how regimented it used to be,” he said. “Strict schedules, eating, guarding, sleeping, training, research and repeat. All duties covered, all tasks completed. No stone unturned, no blade unoiled, all of that.”
“Of course,” I replied. How could I not? At that moment, if I was at the Lair, I would be walking the southern perimeter, scouring the trees for whatever threat the Masters feared. In the next hour, Seventeen would take over and I would rotate to the kitchen to grab a bowl of rice and mystery meat from whatever the Masters hadn’t used. Ten minutes after that, I would report to the armory to check and sharpen blades.
The schedule was tight, repeated day and night, a different schedule for each form. The path I walked as a wolf was as ingrained into my mind as my own den in the Lair, a cell of stones with only a pallet on the floor to call my own. Possessions didn’t matter. Only the safety of the Masters mattered.
“But the Masters started letting the schedule slide,” the werewolf continued. “They stopped checking the boxes, stopped monitoring the regiment leaders.” He pointed to his hair. “Attention to our appearance and clothing stopped. No haircuts, no tracking runs, no shaving.”
I recalled the day I was supposed to get my weekly slip to bathe and tend to hygiene so I wouldn’t stand out on our prey runs, but the blue pass had never appeared on my bed. I expected it the following day, but it never came. The older werewolves in charge of such things had been assigned to watch duty. The kitchens were a free-for-all of food scrambling and fighting for our lives. Even the armory had becoming a chaotic array of blades, poisons, antidotes, and spears. Order had started to slip away.
I had relished the loosening of our leashes, so to speak, as much as the next werewolf. I spoke my next thought aloud, “Everything was easier until they started pitting us against each other in harder matches, matches that were impossible to win.”
