No Werewolves Allowed

by Cheyenne McCray

  I was not going to think of T, even if he had saved my life. Twice.

  And he had turned out to be something so unexpected I still couldn’t fathom it. He’d vanished after we defeated the Demons and we hadn’t seen him since.

  “An adult female from my pack disappeared after the children,” Beketov was saying. “Then two more females before we lost an adult male.”

  Olivia took in an audible breath as she paused from putting notes on her phone. “Damn.”

  Who wouldn’t agree with that statement?

  Beketov continued to look away from us. Then his waist-long bronze hair swung from a harsh jerk of his head when he returned his tawny-gold gaze to me. “I have sent out search teams and I have forbidden anyone from my pack to go out in groups of less than three.”

  “Any clues at all?” My own stylus hovered over my cellphone as I waited to write down more notes.

  “Nothing matches.” Beketov’s Czech accent grew stronger, in tune with the growing anger in his voice. “The only thing in common is that they are all Werewolves.”

  Olivia tapped the end of her stylus on her desk. “Wolf or human form?”

  Beketov’s sigh was heavy again. “We are not sure.”

  “What about smell?” Olivia frowned. “Werewolves can scent anything. Humans, paranorms, and animals can’t mask their scents. It just hasn’t been possible no matter how many times it’s been tried.”

  “Until now.” Beketov bit out the two words like he was slicing them from the air around us. “Nothing on the Were’s body when we find them. We cannot even scent anything around them.”

  Olivia frowned and her eyes unfocused, as if she was looking at a movie reel in her mind.

  “The next full moon is only days away,” I said. “How close is your pack to civilization?”

  “Too close,” Beketov said. “We are camped close to Devil’s Tombstone, near Stony Clove Creek.”

  “Well, that figures,” Olivia said.

  I raised my eyebrows in question.

  Olivia tapped her stylus on the table. “The Devil was said to have haunted that area way back when. Early settlement days. Men, women, and children were said to turn up missing frequently.” She was looking at me. “Considering what’s happening, it couldn’t be more appropriate.”

  “Nothing but superstition.” Beketov’s voice went deeper, closer to a growl. “We have hunted in that location for years.” His huge, impressive muscles flexed as he spoke. “We go to the most isolated parts of the forest during full moon so that we are not a danger to norms or paranorms.”

  Olivia turned her gaze on Beketov. “Anywhere near Stony Clove is way too close to civilization come full moon.”

  “We may have no choice but to stay.” He shook his head. “We cannot leave the area until the children are found.”

  “Uh, near civilization during the full moon thing—not good.” Olivia held her stylus as she leaned back in her chair. “You’d be taking the chance of being seen and you might slaughter innocent people.”

  “Perhaps it is what’s needed.” He met Olivia’s gaze with a hard stare. “We might take out whatever it is that is kidnapping and killing my people.”

  “Sure.” Olivia tossed the stylus on her desktop and crossed her arms over her ample chest. “A Werewolf during full moon, a savage being not even aware of its true existence, taking care of this problem. I don’t think so.”

  At full moon a Were transforms into a hideous beast instead of their natural wolf form. Neither man nor wolf, but a walking abomination that would kill the closest thing to it with no awareness beyond the fact that it was hungry.

  Always hungry.

  Beketov’s expression went darker, but I headed him off. I set my XPhone and stylus to the side. “We’ll solve this atrocity before the next full moon.”

  TWO

  Tingles spread from my toes, up my body, to the pads of my fingers and over my scalp as I began my transformation to Drow.

  Olivia sat on my white Sé couch as she watched my metamorphosis and she grinned. “Go, Purple Lady.”

  I scowled. “Amethyst.”

  She smirked and watched me go through my movements while I shifted, like she was enjoying a TV show. She had brought a bag of barbeque chips with her to our strategy session and while she watched, she crunched on a giant chip.

  A shudder rippled through me. Olivia knew that chip-crunching caused my skin to crawl, but she was addicted to Lay’s barbeque chips like some people were addicted to tobacco or alcohol.

  “Wonder if there’s a PCA around here,” I grumbled before I concentrated completely on shifting from human to Drow. “Potato Chips Anonymous.”

  I leaned forward over one leg and settled myself into a hip-flexor stretch. My long hair swung over my shoulders as it started shimmering from black to a deep shade of blue. I could actually feel prickles carry the changes in my hair from the roots to the very tips of each strand.

  While I switched poses and stretched over my opposite leg, my hair finished its transformation and became a rich cobalt blue.

  I moved into a lunge stretch. My black leather fighting outfit felt supple and soft against my skin. I missed the feel of air on my bare flesh because I normally shifted naked. That wasn’t an option with one of my friends sitting right in front of me.

  The black leather of my Elvin-made suit was a dark contrast against my fair skin. My flesh slowly turned to a shade of pale amethyst marble as I moved into another martial arts warm-up pose.

  With sensuous movements I limbered my body, my muscles tightening, firming, becoming more defined. My elemental powers stirred within me, growing stronger as I took Drow form.

  My small fangs lowered and my mouth ached from the initial burst from my gums, and the coppery taste of blood wet my tongue.

  As my thoughts flashed to Dmitri Beketov’s son, anger surged through me and I pierced my bottom lip with the sharp tip of one fang. I licked the blood from my lower lip as I worked to regain focus on my shift.

  When I was finished with the transformation, the air was cool in my lungs as I sucked in a deep breath. Dark Elves have more acute senses than humans and some paranorms. Olivia’s freesia perfume was keener and mingled with the scents of natural lemon oil my Shifter maid, Dahlia, used to polish my hardwood floors.

  I returned to where Olivia reclined on my formerly spotless white sofa that now had a few chip crumbs on it. She crunched another chip and I flinched, then snatched the bag from her.

  “Hey.” She reached for the chips and I held the bag behind my back.

  “You’re past your quota.” I sank to the floor in front of the glass and steel German coffee table, and I moved into a yoga pose when I was settled. The potato chip bag made a crackling sound as I dropped it behind me and I tucked my ankles under my butt.

  Olivia grumbled, her eyes narrowed, but it was a mock-serious expression.

  The chip bag safely behind me, I placed my now empty hands on my knees. “I don’t think there’s much more to plan for the trip to the Catskills.”

  “I’ve got all the camping gear.” Olivia used one hand to brush the chip crumbs from the sofa into her opposite palm. “Haven’t used it since I dumped Brent, so it’s still stacked in my closet.”

  I snorted. Olivia’s version of stacked meant crammed. Where my home was designer chic, hers was Early American garage sale. I always wondered where she stashed the money she made as a PI because Rodán paid her exceptionally well, as he did me.

  Olivia was also paid a very nice sum when she assisted me on various night-tracking assignments. You couldn’t tell by her Wal-Mart clothing and thrift-store furnishings that she had to have a pretty hefty bank account by now. For all I knew she could have had a load of cash before working for Rodán and the GG. With Olivia, a person never knew and I didn’t feel it was my place to ask.

  “Since you’re taking care of the food, make sure you bring plenty.” Olivia stood and started heading toward my kitchen. “I’m not into hun
ks of raw meat.”

  “Ugh.” I grimaced as I pictured a Werewolf’s teeth ripping into a wild animal’s bloody haunch. “I’ll pack enough for a week.”

  “We’d better have this case solved in the next few days,” Olivia said over her shoulder. “I don’t intend to be in the same vicinity as a pack of Werewolves at full moon.”

  I nodded. Taking that much food meant a quick shopping trip to the corner grocery in the morning when I wasn’t amethyst and blue. Living alone, I didn’t keep that much food in my cupboards.

  “Don’t forget the Lay’s barbeque chips,” came Olivia’s voice as she disappeared through the archway that led to my kitchen.

  I made a mental note to avoid buying Olivia anything crunchy.

  With my acute Drow senses, I heard her open the cabinet door where my garbage can was tucked away to toss her chip crumbs, then the sound of running water while she washed her hands.

  I shifted where I sat and reached for my cell on the nearby glass end table.

  My living space was modern designer but eclectic. The designer who had decorated my entire apartment had said, “Matching is for wusses.” Her words, not mine, but I liked it.

  I enjoyed the contrast of the modern furniture from what I’d grown up with belowground in Otherworld. A couple of pieces of my furniture had been created by American designers, but most of the items had been imported from other countries—Germany, England, Italy, Spain, and Belgium. I liked feeling as if I was a part of the entire earth Otherworld. It was more than likely because I was rebelling from my upbringing in the Drow Realm belowground in Otherworld.

  The contrast between modern and any part of Otherworld—that I’ve been to—is striking. Dark Elves still make everything the same way they have for millennia. Total Dark Ages look. Change in the Drow Realm? Yeah, right.

  Perks of being a Drow princess—I could afford anything, so this furniture wasn’t a drop out of my account. Hey, you should see the size of the diamonds that the Dark Elves mine.

  “Nine in the morning, my place.” Olivia scooped her XPhone off of the sofa. “That’ll give me enough time to rent the SUV from Dollar and pack it, and time for you to get a week’s worth of groceries.”

  I pointed my stylus at her. “Two weeks.”

  “We’d better not be there that long.” Olivia slipped her phone in its clip at her waist, close to her holstered Sig Sauer. “Don’t forget trail mix. The kind with lots of dried fruit.”

  Lots of fruit meant not too crunchy. Good. I pulled up tomorrow’s grocery list on my XPhone and added trail mix. “Got it.”

  “See you at the Pit, Purple Girl,” she said before she opened the apartment door.

  “Amethyst.” My stylus bounced off the door as she closed it behind her, the closed door cutting off the sound of her wicked cackle.

  Flying monkeys, indeed.

  The Pit was rockin’ with the heavy-metal band Rodán had brought in for the weekend. Olivia and I pushed our way through the crowded nightclub until we stood by the stage at the back of the club.

  “Sweet Cat?” Olivia made a face as she yelled over the blasting music. “Too bad Tragic Dance isn’t playing instead.”

  “Hey, Sweet Cat isn’t half bad.” I raised my voice, too, as I scanned the stage to see if all of Cat’s regular performers were playing tonight.

  Olivia snorted. “But the other half is.”

  Iddy was on bass, Carly on guitar, and Mitsi on keyboard. Lead vocals was Adele, a Pixie with a prima donna syndrome. Adele was the reason Olivia would have preferred a different band—any band—playing tonight.

  “You have to admit it’s amazing what those Shifters can do with a guitar or bass,” I said. “And the Nymph on keyboard rocks.”

  I wasn’t about to mention Adele. Olivia hated her. They’d had a run-in over the same Shifter male and they both were good at carrying grudges.

  “Too bad Sweet Cat doesn’t have a Siren on vocals.” Olivia glanced at me and smirked. “That would solve the bitch problem,” she said, meaning Adele would be gone. “Sirens have the best vocals, anyway. She could entrance some of the scum in here and get rid of them.”

  I shook my head. “Sure. Like that’s going to happen.”

  Sirens were rare outside of the Bermuda Triangle. Strip club owners would kill to have a cooperative Siren, but Sirens aren’t known for their fondness for males in general. Especially lewd males. Sirens would sing the males to their deaths before they’d dance naked for them.

  Olivia shrugged. “You have to admit it would be a great undercover assignment in a nightclub.”

  “Maybe.” I glanced at Olivia as we bypassed the stage and Olivia tossed Adele a glare hot enough that the Pixie’s hair should have caught on fire. I hurried to continue, “But not many reputable nightclub owners want their males entranced.”

  Olivia turned her attention to me. “It sells more beer.”

  I shook my head. “Every female in the place—who isn’t a Siren—gets pissed off and leaves when their males get fixated on the Siren. Less clientele equals less profit. Sirens are out.”

  “Better than Pixies.” Olivia narrowed her gaze at Adele again.

  Petite beings, generally about five feet tall, Pixies can really belt it. Plus they’ll do just about anything for chocolate. They even smell like milk chocolate.

  Olivia continued glaring at Adele and took a step toward the stage. My partner looked ready to climb onto the stage to go after the Pixie. I grabbed Olivia’s upper arm and tugged her toward the huge conference room door, far away from the stage. She stood fast for a moment, then seemed to switch mental gears and block out the thought of the Pixie as she headed with me toward the conference room.

  Phew.

  Smells of pipe weed, greasy hamburgers, and the yeasty odor of beer all combined with sweat from those on the dance floor and the various paranorm scents. The smells were swept through the room by the bladed fans overhead, the air still sticky with body heat despite the fans.

  Speaking of Sirens, I waved to Nadia. Then I waved to Lawan, who was a Siamese cat Doppler from Thailand. My friends were walking toward the same door Olivia and I were, but coming from the direction of the far right corner crowded with overstuffed black leather couches and chairs. Most Trackers hung out in that corner until it was time to track.

  A sick feeling churned in my gut. If things hadn’t changed the way they had, Caprice would be with Nadia. But Caprice had been murdered by Demons so recently that the pain that balled in my chest was fresh, jagged, and vicious. I still held onto that pain and anger every time I thought of my dead friend. I could have saved her if only I hadn’t been too late. If only I’d sensed the Demons sooner.

  We’d never see Caprice again.

  I’d never hear her call me chica again.

  Revenge on the Demons hadn’t been close to satisfying.

  Doing my best to put aside the horrors I’d seen the night of Caprice’s death, I glanced in the direction of Rodán’s chambers.

  Olivia was now one of the few allowed in his chambers, though only when she and I had extremely important paranormal assignments. This time, however, we were all meeting in the conference room with the other Night Trackers.

  “Why does he want us to meet in the conference room?” Nadia hooked her arm through mine when she reached me, her fair skin pale against my amethyst flesh. “What’s up?”

  “No clue.” Over the phone I’d filled Rodán in on my and Olivia’s conversation with the alpha Werewolf, so Rodán was up to speed. “Maybe he’s telling everyone about Olivia’s and my new case.”

  Lawan looked at me with her pretty brown eyes as she leaned closer to me, her scent of tiger flowers soft and welcome. Like all Trackers, she was decked out in black leather. Each Tracker picked out whatever they wanted to wear, and everyone’s suit was different. Lawan tended to dress in a modest high-necked full bodysuit that revealed only her face and hands.

  She might look petite and delicate, but she knew how to use the K
rabi sheathed at her side. It was a sword wielded by many in Thailand’s Krabi-Krabong, a form of martial arts. I’d seen Lawan kick major ass using her skills as well as kill baddies with her Krabi. Swift and neat.

  “What’s going on with your latest case?” Lawan asked, her voice soft, light.

  With her quiet voice, a person would never guess Lawan had a battle cry that topped any one of the seventeen remaining Manhattan Trackers. That included the big-mouthed Shifter, Ice, who preferred a pure white jaguar as his animal form. He had a roar to rival a God or Goddess if one of the deities happened to be angry. Real angry.

  I didn’t answer Lawan because we’d reached the conference room door. The other Night Trackers were talking so loudly as they made their way through that I would have had to raise my voice so that Lawan could hear me. I didn’t want to announce the case to other Trackers. It was only their business if Rodán made it so.

  “Where’s Rodán?” Olivia put her hands on her hips as she and all of the Trackers crowded into the room.

  Of course he wouldn’t be in the room yet. Rodán liked to make an entrance. I just said, “He’ll be here.”

  My smile faded as my mind touched upon our proctor. In a strange cycle, my thoughts went from Rodán to Adam. From the mistake I’d made that had caused Adam pain. I’d fallen for the NYPD detective and then screwed everything up.

  I closed my eyes tight for a moment. The woodsy perfume from the polished Dryad-wood floor and conference table could be smelled over all of the various Tracker scents. We had Dopplers, Shifters, a few different races of Fae, along with Weres. All races of paranorms had different and very distinct scents.

  When Rodán needed to make extremely important announcements, the room could accommodate all of the Manhattan Peacekeepers at one time, standing room only. Trackers, Healers, Gatekeepers, and Soothsayers. But not tonight.

  “The way I’m treated by this bunch, you’d think I had spinach in my teeth and snot dripping from my nose,” Olivia said in a sarcastic tone and I opened my eyes.

  I wanted to clap my hand over her mouth before she said something that would end any chance of her being accepted by a good portion of the Trackers in the room.