by Morgan Wylie
~~~~~
“Mather, I’ll need you back for a team meeting with Black Widow via video conference,” Rylen’s voice came through Mather’s receiver.
“How long?” Mather asked, pausing from his jog through the small park right next to the Puget Sound.
“Two hours.”
“I’ll be there, Ry. I just need to clear my head. Things aren’t settling right, and I don’t know why,” Mather answered honestly.
“I know, man. We’re all up in arms about one thing or another. Just don’t pull away like you usually do. I need you close, all right?”
“I’ll do what I can, Rylen. But I need to get clear or my head might explode.” Mather sighed as he closed his eyes and felt the light breeze against his skin. It was refreshing and awakening. “I’ll be back in time.” They hung up, but Mather continued to simply feel. The cool moist air clung to his skin, and the light breeze tickled the hair on top of his head. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he took in the salty air saturated with the smells of fish. After a moment of peace, Mather began running again. A few other patrons of the park passed by him while he picked up his speed. He kept it at a steady jog for the time being. It felt good to move his muscles, to feel the burn of exertion coursing through his veins. Sweat started to bead on his forehead. Trickles of perspiration slid down his spine, pooling at the band of his shorts. A few more minutes passed before he removed his shirt, tucking it into the band of his shorts at his back so he wouldn’t have to hold it. Mather’s chest and arms were a sculpted mass of muscles sketched out and drawn by an artist of the male form, decorated with plentiful and artful designs of meaning and inspiration. His upper body glistened with a light sheen of perspiration. Mather was lightly tanned from the past summer, but it was just enough to keep him from looking pale. His dark beard was a stark contrast to his bare skin. As he ran, his tight man-bun on the top of his head kept his hair from flopping into his eyes. He didn’t like to appear as the cliché hipster with a beard, but he had to admit there was practicality to the man-bun—at least he didn’t wear nerd glasses.
The sun had finally set over the Puget Sound, leaving the sky swathed in colors of red and oranges. The cries of the seagulls swarming overhead pierced through the air. Mather took a path that led him down by the water. After a long stretch of sand, it wound up into a dense patch of trees and foliage. He stopped behind a wall of bushes and stripped off his shorts and socks and shoes. Mather got down on his knees and released the wolf within him and allowed the change to transform him from a man into a large black wolf. The transition was mostly effortless for Mather. It had become second nature to him, it was a part of who he was. Some changes called for a slower alteration, leaving him with the burn of a good workout, and others were instantaneous and jarring with exhilaration. He didn’t even need to think about it. His wolf took a moment to absorb the change and relish in his freedom. Lifting his head, he breathed in the ocean air. It had been too long since he was able to run and feel the wind whip in his face and through his fur. It took all his restraint to not howl into the newly fallen night. Perhaps if it had been later, but at this time, there were still too many people around that would come looking for the source so close to the city.
A noise broke his concentration in the tree behind him. He turned abruptly and took off chasing his newfound prey. A squirrel took off running for its life through the tree, jumping from limb to limb between trees and scurrying as fast as its tiny feet could carry it. Mather kept pace on the ground, looking up to spot his game every so often. He pushed himself harder and harder. Eventually growing bored with his game, he surrendered to the chase itself. He sprinted all out for as long as he could before he needed to slow down for a rest. His chest heaving, he padded his way through the foliage and the broken sticks littering the compacted dirt. He had found some kind of trail that a lot of people had used recently judging by the myriad of scents on the trail. Something about one of the scents triggered a flag in his mind. He stopped abruptly and rooted around in the dirt, distinguishing one scent from the next. Finally finding his new target, he put his nose to the ground and sniffed it out for several minutes until it simply disappeared. Mather’s head reared back in frustration. Scents don’t simply end in the middle of a trail. Whoever left it had to go somewhere.
After several more minutes of smelling the ground and the surrounding area, he found himself back at the beginning of the trail where he first found it. He tested the ground around that area, as well. Perhaps he followed it the wrong way or he tagged the wrong scent in his head, but no, that was practically impossible. His nose was never wrong… he was never wrong, but the letter he couldn’t find a scent on put his abilities into question. Maybe that was the issue altogether. He had been looking at it as if it was his problem, but what if whoever sent it knew he would be the one to test it. Could it be personal? Or were they just that good that they could disguise their scent from a tracker such as Mather? He decided he wasn’t wrong. There wasn’t a scent because it was masked, not gone. He needed to get back to find someone to help him reveal the true scent. Mather hung his head. He needed Poppy, and his pride was wounded that he would have to ask her for her help after he basically told her he didn’t want to talk to her. Of course, that would be how it happened for him. Nothing was easy for him.
Mather followed the trail back to where he had left his clothes and shifted back into the burly man he was. Breathing heavily, he quickly dressed, not bothering to lace up the tennis shoes he rarely wore except for times like this. His gym shorts hung low on his thick, but muscular, waist. He wiped his face and his chest with the t-shirt he had worn then walked to the edge of the tree line where it met the rocky beach and closed his eyes, experiencing the cool relief of the air wafting off the ocean. Feeling slightly rejuvenated and a little clearer in his head, he headed back toward the hotel to do the thing that he loathed the most: meet with Black Widow. At least he’d have time for a shower before the meeting.
Chapter Three
“We’re getting ready to start, Mather, have a seat,” Rylen directed from just inside Headquarters where meetings with Black Widow and all the technical stuff happened. It struck Mather odd that she had never come to meet with them in person, always meeting by video conference. The entire inner team was seated already in the theater-style seats in HQ. He slouched in slowly, hating to be the last one to arrive. Mather took a seat in the front behind Rylen who sat at the main desk in front of the video feed. Poppy watched unabashedly as Mather sat down, neither saying a word. Rylen, seated to the right of Poppy, nodded. “Better, man?”
“Yeah, thanks. I needed to get it out of my system.”
“Did you?” Rylen looked him directly in the eyes, reading Mather better than most could.
“I got what I needed to figured out, I think,” Mather misdirected. Rylen nodded after a second longer. “Just curious, why doesn’t the mistress of all things evil ever come here in person? I mean, why only the video conferences?”
“Would you like her to come here and invade our personal space, placing everything and everyone under scrutiny? By all means, feel free to invite her, Mat.” Rylen said pointedly yet with an ironic sense of humor at the same time. No one wanted Black Widow in their Lair.
“Not what I want. Just curious that she has never tried, to my knowledge.”
Rylen thought about it for a moment. “No, she never has. It’s an interesting point to ponder at a later time. I am fine with the outcome but have never questioned why. She’s very reclusive. As it is, I don’t think she goes anywhere.”
An incoming signal alerted them to her approaching virtual presence.
“She’s ready, Rylen. You?” Poppy asked, pushing buttons and moving the mouse across the screen to the appropriate icons.
“Go ahead, Poppy. Put her through.”
“Good evening to you, Rylen and team,” Black Widow droned what should have sounded hospitable, her voice hoarse and sensually scratchy if that was possible. B
lack Widow’s face appeared front and center of the large screen up on the wall. Mather thought Poppy might find it interesting to study how it was possible to elicit such a strange form of intimidation through a monitor.
“And to you, Madam Black Widow,” Rylen replied cordially. “What can we do for you tonight?”
“Ah, Rylen, always polite. I can tell by the hint of hatred in your eyes that you want nothing to do with me tonight.” Her voice crackled loudly through the surround sound speakers as she finished with a short sardonic cackle.
Rylen stiffened his shoulders. “Of course not, Serena,” Rylen countered, using her given name. Not many could call her that, but for some reason, she allowed Rylen to do so. “We merely have loose ends we are still trying to tie up from the mess with the Fairfax Alliance, and it is proving more challenging than we had hoped. Everyone is a little on edge lately.”
“I’ve noticed.” Black Widow turned her head so only one large obsidian eyeball pierced the little room. It was not something you wanted to see up close and personal in a confined space.
Rylen cocked his head, hearing something in her tone, causing the team behind him to key in as well. Was there more to what she was saying? He couldn’t tell.
“How is the hunt, Rylen?” she asked.
“We have been searching all the locations that Alana gave us as previous places they had used in the past several years. I didn’t realize they had been so close for so long. Did you?” Rylen looked pointedly at Black Widow to gauge her reaction, but she didn’t give one at all except for her words.
“They had been around longer than I was made to believe,” she answered carefully.
“Interesting. Well, anyway, I thought I would inquire if you have any other leads we could follow? We seem to be coming up against dead ends at every turn on our own. I know you want your people to succeed, so we would appreciate any little bread crumb you could throw us.” Rylen sounded like he was begging, but the rest of his team knew he had more up his sleeve. He was baiting the Black Widow, but for what, no one was quite sure yet.
“Such a smart boy.” Black Widow took a rocky step backward, revealing the slightest bit of her background to the camera. It was dark where she was, but there was a stringy fog in the back corner and something rustling… no, the entire back wall seemed to be moving… squirming. She was standing but never revealed much lower than her bust line. Most of her inky black hair swirled down the front of her black vinyl bustier in long ringlets. An elaborate braid crowned the top of her head. Her unusually large and wide eyes appeared doe-like and innocent until you looked into the vast depths of them—then you saw the darkness that threatened to swallow the viewer whole. Mather swore the darkness looked hungry tonight as she steepled her hands in front of her mouth as if deciding what information to share with the team.
“Perhaps your little poppet is withholding some valuable information from you. You might want to double check,” she taunted Rylen. Alana was not at the meeting, but the team bristled with instant dissension behind Rylen’s back. It wouldn’t take much; Alana was already walking a very tight rope trying to fit in with the crew at the Lair. Rylen trusted her not to lie to him. She was his mate. But withhold information? Possible.
“Let’s say she is. What would she have to tell me?” Rylen countered.
“You will have to work that out with your new little pet if she is truly someone you think you can trust. Watch your back, Rylen. Are you sure you know who to trust?” Black Widow tittered about, cocking her head and batting her lashes faster than humanly possible. The little eccentricities that made her Widow were also things that gave the team the creeps about her. That, and they had no real idea what all her powers were or where they came from.
“I do, Ma’am, I always watch my back,” Rylen promised without missing a beat. He knew what his gut was telling him.
“If you can get your mate to cooperate, then there is one place they still might be if they are in the Pacific Northwest. I will tell you they are not far,” she teased.
“Why these games, Widow?” Rylen kept his cool, but barely. “If you know, why not just tell us where to find them and be done with them once and for all?”
“Where would the fun be in that now?” She smiled like the Cheshire Cat, mischievous and full of knowledge they shouldn’t possess. “Tick tock, Rylen. You are still on the clock.” She twirled around as if proud of her little rhyme while Rylen practically growled in his seat.
“You are still holding me to my timeline to rid the Fairfax Alliance? Was it not enough to expose the leader and send them fleeing?”
“No!” Black Widow shouted uncharacteristically, her eyes bugging out into the screen, revealing her hatred for the group. Quickly, she turned her expression from one of disgust to an unruly smile. “I want them dead. All. Of. Them. And I want you to be the one to do it, Rylen. You still must prove your loyalty at all costs.” She turned her head and a small arachnid ducked out from behind her neck. It was a curious little creature, but revealing nonetheless. Until then, Rylen had only assumed she had actual spiders as pets—or something—dwelling with her inside her den. More tiny pieces to the puzzle that was Serena. Black Widow tilted her head and gave an almost imperceptible nod to the tiny creature, and it swiftly backed away, hidden behind the thick curtain of her hair.
“Time is almost up, Rylen. Show me you can do this,” she spoke flatly with the odd inflections that she used, but her tone held a warning. Then the screen went black.
“I guess she was finished,” Rylen declared.
Poppy affirmed and went about closing out their end of the feed as the entire room released a collective sigh of relief. She pushed a few more buttons and pulled up another screen that looked like some kind of map with lines all over it. “The signal was bouncing all around, but it still ended up somewhere near New Orleans as far as I can tell. Someone knows what they are doing, blocking the trace and redirecting it. So, nothing new there,” Poppy explained disappointedly.
“Good work, Poppy. That’s all I ask,” Rylen mumbled without even acknowledging her. His mind was elsewhere.
“What the hell was that all about? It’s like she is having you jump through these hoops for fun. Is that what this is, just a game to her? Or is there something real behind it all? I don’t like being anyone’s puppets.” Mather jumped up, annoyed with the whole situation. The room had grown even smaller since the feed was cut, and Poppy had been looking his direction periodically as if she had something to say but chose not to over and over again. The feeling was stifling.
Rylen still sat in his chair, frowning at the ground. Lola made her way down to him from the top row of seats.
“For what it’s worth, if Alana did keep something from you, I trust it was for a good reason. She should have told you, but remember all she’s gone through and that the leader of our enemy is still her father,” Lola said with concern and wisdom. She patted his shoulder and headed toward the door, awaiting his dismissal.
“How can you say that, Lo? If she kept something this big from him… from us all, she is a traitor and shouldn’t be trusted no matter who her mate is,” Mai spat out, her uncharacteristic attitude still in full force. Rylen swiveled to look at Mai and studied her expression intently.
“Thank you for your concerns over Alana, Mai, and for your loyalty to the Lair. Both of you have valid points. I need to talk to my mate.” Rylen stood then turned to address them all. “Something bigger is going on here—more than our little faction of the Web, I mean.” Rylen looked at Mather. “She is playing some sort of game, and our part in it is to find out what her part is so we can play the game to win. Because I. Do. Not. Lose.” Rylen slammed his fist on the desk before storming out of Headquarters. Shouting behind him to the team, he barked, “Dismissed. We’ll meet again in the morning. Find something for me. Anything!”
“You heard him, minions. Back to work we go,” Enock announced as he unfolded himself from the top row of seats and climbed over the rail
separating the aisle above from the entry into Headquarters below, similar to a movie theater, and jumped down, landing with a thud. Everyone grumbled as they left their seats, passing Mather on their way out the door. Lucius had been the only one absent from the meeting as he was on guard duty within the Lair, basically meaning guarding Gracie, but he tended to stretch his duty to the entire facility. Enock patted Mather on the chest as he walked by. “You coming?”
“In a minute.”
Enock nodded and looked back to see Poppy straightening a file of paperwork and obviously stalling. He gave Mather a small smile and a wink. Mather rolled his eyes and pushed Enock out the door.
Chapter Four
Mather watched as Poppy continued to clean up her space. She was aware of his presence but was apparently waiting for him to make the first move. Something about watching her move with ease and ownership of her space—she belonged there, not necessarily in the small room, but she fit with what she did—made her who she was, and it was intoxicating. The curve of her hips drew his eyes as his wolf lurked within his chest. Mate. No, she’s not ours… at least not yet.
“Are you just going to stand there and stare, Mather? Or are you going to talk because I have things to do.” Poppy raised an eyebrow, turning to look at him from the side. She sounded tired whether or not she looked it. He could see the faint lines around her eyes and the hidden dark circles concealed by her makeup.
“Um… no. Sorry.” Mather cleared his throat and stepped forward from the wall he was leaning against. “I had an idea about the letter we received.”
“The one about Gracie? Rylen told me about that,” Poppy interrupted. Mather’s expression scrunched in confusion.
“He did?”
“Yeah, he told me to keep it to myself, but I knew you knew about it… obviously,” she mumbled. “He asked if I had a way to search for fingerprints on it. I do, but I wasn’t able to get anything off it.” Poppy bit her bottom lip, frustrated in her inability to do what she thought she should be able to do. Mather identified with that too well.
