by Mary Hughes
This time, though…ah, this time X was with this pack for another purpose—a long-overdue revenge. He decided to be merciful.
“Will this switchblade do, master?” Killer handed X a palm-sized handle.
“Let’s see.” With the flick of X’s thumb, a wicked blade erupted straight out of the top, slender as a needle and sharp as hell. It was a weapon of surprise, of deception. X was astonished Killer was smart enough to own something this clever, this deadly. Even the troublesome Blackwood wouldn’t see it until it was far too late.
X stabbed the tip into his finger. His blood boiled out, sizzling onto the metal like water on a hot oiled fry pan. Gradually the bubbling subsided, the blood sinking into the blade as if it was being absorbed.
“Whet its appetite with the blood of its prey, as both man and beast.” X retracted the blade and handed the knife back to Killer.
“You mean stick fuckin’ Blackwood twice?”
“Yes. Man, then wolf. When it is blooded, return it to me and I will finish the poisoning. And Killer?” X waited, eyes narrowed, until the wolf trembled appropriately. “Next time, make sure the bitch is healthy.” He swept up his golden robe and stalked out.
Chapter Five
Sophia woke as the world brightened with predawn, a smile on her face. She felt wonderful, better than she had for years.
She opened her eyes and felt even better.
A luscious man, pure art in black hair and silver eyes and broad shoulders, watched over her. Protectiveness gleamed in that intelligent gaze, along with the masculine satisfaction of a man who’d given her the best orgasm of her life.
Happiness burst inside her like a radiant dawn. Like winning the lottery. It had been months since she’d had any kind of orgasm, much less one as perfect as that. The fact that he’d stuck around and was gazing at her with such tenderness? Better than winning the lottery twice.
“Hi.” She felt a little shy. It’d also been months since a guy had seen her first thing in the morning.
“Sleep well?” His deep voice, roughened with a little morning growl, made him even sexier.
“Wonderfully. I must have been more tired than I realized. Well, with the drive and worrying about my aunt—my aunt.” She sat up abruptly. A blanket fell to her waist. He’d covered her. That was incredibly sweet.
But her aunt was missing and she’d lost…how long? She tossed aside the blanket and stood. “I can’t believe I fell asleep. Why didn’t you wake me? What time is it?”
He raised one black brow. “Which do you want answered first?”
“Time.”
He pointed at the window, where impending sunrise brightened the glass. His expression turned puzzled, then alarmed. He leaped to his feet.
“Noah? What’s wrong—?”
She was talking to his broad back.
She started after him but stopped when her pants slid down her hips. “Noah?”
He’d already disappeared through the rattling curtain of beads. If he was looking for the bathroom, he was going to be disappointed. Those were in the store.
As the beads settled, she straightened all her clothing then waited for him to return. The seconds ticked by. “Noah?” It suddenly occurred to her that he wasn’t coming back. Maybe he regretted what they’d done. Maybe he’d sneaked out the back.
She ran to the beaded curtain and poked her head into the kitchen. “Noah, if you’re still here, say something.”
Silence. The room was empty.
An orgasm, a sweet smile and thoughtful blanket, but then he’d run away? Happiness shriveled as regret thickened her throat and lynched her muscles of strength.
Shoulders slumping, she wandered back to the sofa and collapsed.
A yip raised her head.
“King.” Her mood immediately brightened. At least someone loved…um, needed her.
He jumped onto the couch beside her. She picked him up, and when he licked her face enthusiastically, she giggled.
A banker, an assistant VP, giggling. But the poofball made her feel light as a girl. “Noah’s gone, King. You just missed him.” So did she. No, she didn’t miss him. She missed the backup he could have provided when she tracked down Marlowe. “Too bad I can’t have you as my protector.”
He yipped and wiggled, the universal language for “down”. When Sophia set him on the floor he scampered to the front door. Well, skittered actually, toenails clacking like he was trying to stride but his little legs were too short. What a strange combination of cute and assertive.
He stood before the door and yipped a couple times, wagging his tail expectantly. She realized he stood on bare, clean floor. Noah had swept up the glass.
All that walking sex appeal, plus tidy? Where did she sign up?
King yipped. She got to her feet. “You want walkies?”
He grred a definite “no”.
“Something to do with outside, though?”
The grr transformed to a happy little yip.
She smiled. There she was, imagining he was talking again. “This is about Noah?” At another yip she said, “You think Noah ran out on me too, huh?”
King trotted back to her, his little legs under better control. He stopped directly in front of her and nailed her straight in the eye. That stern look said, If you think Noah ever runs out on his responsibilities, you don’t know him at all.
Sophia was momentarily shocked. Then she laughed. More likely his stare meant, Let me out before I burst a faucet.
“Okay, let me try to find your leash.” But despite searching, she could find neither leash nor collar.
Tapping her pearls, Sophia stood there. What to do? Let him out and hope he didn’t run away? Or slip out to buy a leash and risk his anointing Auntie’s porous hardwood floors and mint-condition Persian carpeting? Because the papers in the kitchen hadn’t been used. Maybe there already was a surprise waiting for her somewhere.
King started pawing the front door. Maybe she could improvise a collar? Something the size of her wrist…fingers tapping at her necklace, she got an idea.
Near the register glittered a display of costume necklaces and bracelets, rhinestone and paste in lovely pastels and jewel tones, all mint condition. Aunt Linda had a fondness for antique jewelry. Sophia picked out a sapphire bracelet as King trotted up with an annoyed whuff. “Hold out your neck.”
He cautiously extended his head. Sophia knelt and fastened it around his furry neck. It was too loose.
She took it off and selected a smaller bracelet, which happened to be a sparkling pink.
King growled.
“Quiet. You get a collar or you don’t go out.”
King bared teeth and started yapping loud and fast, as if he was reading her the riot act. He even stomped once as if for emphasis, his package bobbling in a way that reminded her forcefully he was not in any way an “it”.
“Okay.” She put the pink bracelet back. “Happy now?”
King gave a final snarl and shut his mouth.
“This doesn’t mean I think you understand me.” She sorted through the rest of the bracelets. “Wereterrier? Please. No shifters of any domesticated breed except cat, and those don’t count. Even house cats aren’t truly domesticated.” She picked out an emerald bracelet with a hook on one end and a chain on the other. Not as sturdy as the blue or pink with their solid clasps, but it had the advantage of being sizable. “Although one might argue all ferrets are weres. Does this one meet with Your Highness’s approval?”
King gave a disgruntled yip, but he sat still while she put it on. It seemed secure so she tied on some thick string as a makeshift leash and headed out for Marlowe’s place.
First morning light, cut with the long shadows, dusted the sidewalk and glittered off dew, golden light that made the whole day seem fresh and ripe with possibilities.
So
phia nearly shared her thoughts with King, realized how foolish it was, and clamped her lips.
Which was foolish too. If talking to King made her feel good, what was wrong with that? In fact, maybe “talking to King” was really only working through her problems out loud. That wasn’t crazy.
Although the thinking-he-answered part probably was.
Oh well. Who was around to notice? She smiled again. “So, King. Where do you think Noah went? Should we try to find him?” Given everything she’d heard about Marlowe, it would be nice to have the big strong alpha by her side.
With a yip, King whirled and trotted in the other direction. Her gut jolted. Had he understood and caught the trail?
He trotted toward a tree.
She laughed. Right, he could “understand” her. “Okay, hurry up and do your business. With what everyone’s been saying about him, the earlier the better to confront Marlowe.”
King whirled again and almost upended himself, like he was expecting a bigger counterweight than his little stub of a tail. He recovered immediately, braced his hind end and barked at her like he meant it.
“Fine.” She raised a hand. “Do your business and I’ll take you home before I go.”
“Yip yip.” King glared.
That was a “no way” if she’d ever heard one. “Well, I’m going to Marlowe’s, and I’m going now. Are you coming or not?”
He gave a disgruntled “yes” of a yip.
She hid a smile. “Then let’s go.”
She thought she’d just knock and ask a few polite questions. But when she got to the address a block past the sidewalk’s end, she was confronted by a yard-circling hedge as friendly as bailed wire. Remembering Miss Almira’s warnings, fear splashed into her blood.
She crunched with King up the driveway through the weed-choked lot. A hand-painted sign with red drips read, Go away or get shot.
Subtle.
She wanted to laugh at the corny sign, wanted to laugh off her fear, but as she mounted the stoop to the rusty trailer with the blackout windows, King gave a worried little yip. Maybe wondering if she was going through with this. Heart pounding in her ears, she was asking herself the same thing.
Deep breath. She knocked on the door.
It swung open. Five-ten of punk-assed teen werewolf stared groggily at her.
“Marlowe?” She kept her stance and gaze neutral, not aggressive but not victimish either.
His eyes sharpened on her. “Who’s asking?” He stepped out, crowding her back.
Not just a punk-assed were, but a bully.
King leaped between her and Marlowe, the brave little thing. The dog yapped sternly. She could practically hear him say, Knock it off, kid.
With a snarl, Marlowe kicked King.
“Hey.” She reached out to stop him.
The kick swished air. Leaping nimbly to the side, King kept yapping, not angry so much as telling the kid to shape up pronto or else.
Marlowe swore and missed another couple kicks. With an irritated spit to the side, he turned his attention to Sophia.
Oh, the look that kid gave her, from head to toe and definitely in between. Her palm itched to slap him. But questions first. “I’d like to talk with you. May I come in?”
King threw her a look that clearly said he thought she was nuts. She shrugged. She couldn’t disagree.
Marlowe sneered up his attitude. “Sure. Yum, yum.”
“Ew. I’m probably nearly a decade older than you.”
“Ain’t you heard of cougars?”
“Ain’t you heard, cougar beats wolf?” A giveaway that she knew about werewolves, but she was tired of the boy. She shouldered past him into the trailer, King following silently. She thought it telling that the dog refused to sniff around.
Trash cluttered the place. Not clutter like her aunt’s store. There was clutter from an active mind, clutter from folks too tired to clean, clutter from kids and clutter from illness.
Then there was the miasma of filth-in filth-out, like a snake’s nest of sloughed skin. Her own skin crawled. The rising sun struggled through grimy windows, sills lined with beer bottles. Amber light splotched everywhere—except one corner.
A single red bottle lit that corner like the wall wept blood. A sign.
Death had happened here.
If Sophia had been a practicing witch, she’d have cleansed the place with fire. As it was she vowed to find out what had happened and make whoever was responsible pay.
The kid pushed past her and turned with a grin. “Welcome to your worst nightmare.” It was a rehearsed line.
“Grow up.” She straightened to her full height and looked him in the eye. “I have questions. About your theft. Why the bookstore?”
“Me? Theft?” Marlowe overdid the innocence. “Maybe old lady Blue needs better protection.”
King sat on disgusted haunches. She didn’t even bother contradicting the kid. “Who told you to steal from her?”
“Kille—hey. No trick questions. I didn’t steal anything.”
She held both hands up. “One more. Did my aunt come here to retrieve her property?”
“Please. We don’t allow scrawny old hens like her with us prime bachelors.”
And again, ew. That was her cue to exit. “Thanks. I’ll be going.”
“Yip!” King barked a warning. Marlowe’s eyes flicked to a spot behind her. His slow, lurid smile made the hairs on her nape rise.
“You ain’t fucking’ going nowhere.”
“You must be Killer.” She turned, easy, but inside her nerves were screaming.
“In the fuckin’ flesh.” Filling the doorway was an f-bomb werewolf on toothpick legs. “Speaking of fuckin’ flesh…” He grabbed his crotch and bumped his hips.
She ground fists into her eyes, trying to scrub out her retinas. Killer was Marlowe but heavier, hairier and not as subtle. Now she knew where the kid learned his suave way with the ladies.
Killer sauntered toward her. She dropped her hands, loose, ready for fight or flight.
Pain unexpectedly seared her side. She bit back a yelp and slapped a hand over her pocket. A hard length met her palm.
The carbon fiber wand was in her blazer pocket, primed with battle magic, acting as if it was still hers.
Yes. She could instantly downgrade this ass with a whip of the wand.
Shame, sealing her magic away, dying… She hesitated.
King leaped between them, barking angrily at Killer.
The wolfman snapped teeth at the dog. “Looks like I’m having me a snack first.”
For the little dog’s sake. She grabbed the wand.
A lightning bolt of pain ripped from her hand, through her skull and heart before ripping out the other hand.
She shrieked and let go. She’d thought maybe…but not just shame kept her from using her magic. Some seals were not made to be broken.
“That’s the scream you’ll make when I’m fuckin’ you.” Killer took another threatening step toward her.
King darted in to nip a warning at Killer’s ankles then leaped back as if to protect her.
“Oh noes.” Killer pointed a sarcastically trembling finger. “The nasty doggie’s guarding you. I’m sooo scared.”
King stood quivering at the ready. Poor brave dear. She couldn’t let him get hurt for her. No magic, so resist the mundane way. Lifting her breastbone, she said in her coldest voice, “Move aside. I’m leaving.”
“Not before you and me have some fun, girlie.” Killer grabbed her arm, fingers biting.
King leaped, tearing the string leash from her hand. He ran through Killer’s legs, trailing string, slaloming a figure-eight, winding Killer’s ankles.
She yanked out of Killer’s grip. Killer, thrown off-balance, tried to step wider to steady himself.
King leaped
back. The line snapped tight.
With a roar of anger, Killer toppled, slowly, like a tree. She could have yelled timber!
She hopped back as he crashed in front of her, bounced off Marlowe and skirted a flailing Killer to unhook King’s bracelet and free him of the string. “Let’s go!” She dumped the bracelet into her blazer pocket as she ran for the door.
Marlowe shouted. Sophia spun to defend herself—as the kid stepped on a pile of frozen dinner cartons, skidded on their coated surfaces and smashed into a wall.
King nosed her toward the door. Great minds, thinking alike. She ran.
Roars and shouts came from the trailer as she blundered down the gravel drive. She hit asphalt and put on speed. Her lungs sawed and her heart pounded as she pushed her muscles to the limit. King churned his little legs alongside. Civilization and the start of the sidewalk on East Second seemed miles away.
A full-throated howl from the trailer drove needles into her spine. She shot a glance over her shoulder.
A gray wolf leaped from the bramble hedge, landing braced on four paws. Killer. His shaggy head twisted from side to side, searching for her. He’d be after her the moment he caught sight or scent.
She tried to run faster, but her legs trembled, her breath rasped painfully and her heart thudded like it would explode.
A second howl froze her bowels. Marlowe. She stumbled. Got to keep going. She pushed on.
Her feet thudded onto gas station pavement. Pain shot through her side as she made the final leap for the station’s door. Salvation.
It was locked.
She grabbed her shooting side and staggered to the neighboring FreshFresh. Also locked, its Closed sign taunting her. King yapped angrily and nudged her ankles to go on.
Whimpering, she started for the next building west, an accountant’s converted brownstone. She stumbled up two steps, swung into the doorway and knocked desperately.
No one answered.
She fought panic’s rising burn. Would she have to run all the way to the bookstore?
Killer’s howl changed. Sophia spun. He’d caught her trail and ran toward her with a wolf’s ground-eating stride. Advanced Creatures 401 taught her they could go almost forty miles an hour.
