by Danae Ayusso
“Someone once told me,” he said, interrupting her; he didn’t want her first I love you, if that was what she was going to say, to be because of guilt, “that normal people have no idea how beautiful the darkness is. And your darkness is just as beautiful as your light, you just need to find the bridge between the two. If you want help finding that bridge, I’ll do whatever I can to assist you with it, so you can take pride in the other mask you are forced to wear.”
Akia hated it when Damian got overly poetic when being reassuring. It made it near impossible to tell him no. It was ironic that he spoke of it as a mask one wears because he, himself, wore a half-dozen masks, all of which she had seen firsthand but only three she enjoyed: Captain Nikas mask, werewolf mask, and home with her mask. Somehow he brought out the sides of her that she never knew existed, and it pissed her off, but at the same time it felt as if the wolf side was starting to lose the power she once had over Akia.
“Did you want to talk about the case to pass the time?” he pressed when she didn’t say anything.
The choked burst of amusement that broke past her lips made him smile.
“The case is the last thing I want to talk about,” she admitted, “but now I can openly talk about it with you, and you won’t think I’m completely insane.”
“Because of your heightened sense of smell?” he teased.
“And ability to sense a lie,” she said, and he nodded his understanding.
“Involuntary response and reactions aren’t the easiest things to pick up, even for werewolves, so you should take pride in the fact that you can read people as well as you do.”
She looked up at him and met his eyes, the blush creeping up her neck felt like fire under her skin, but she knew the heat wasn’t from her wolf side trying to run free. “I learned it from you,” she whispered then kissed his hand again. “You are an exceptional teacher, even when you don’t mean to be. The Oliver case,” she said with a chuckle, “I was trying so hard not to bust into the interrogation room when you were grilling that bastard, and throwing you on the table before I did naughty, naughty things to you in front of him and the cameras.”
Damian smirked. “I know,” he said, rather smugly. “I could hear you from the other side of the glass, and smell you and how turned on you were, that’s why I was grilling him as hard as I was, as you put it. I only needed ten minutes with him, but what I was doing to you was so much better than putting a murderer behind bars.”
Softly she moaned; perhaps there were four masks of Damian that she enjoyed: the cocky, sexy, overly confident mask was most agreeable in the bedroom.
“Did I ever tell you when I knew I was in love with you?” he asked after a stretch of silence.
“I’m scared to ask,” Akia admitted; she hated talking about those types of things because it made her feel guilty that she couldn’t say it back, even though she knew in her heart that she loved him, she was just too terrified to say it aloud then have him not feel the same in a few months, weeks, days, or hours even.
“You should be simply terrified,” Damian agreed. “I had spent four days with my pack, my family in essence, and Father was giving me a hard time because I hadn’t taken a wife in order to have an heir.”
Her eyes widened, and scrambled away from him to the far side of the cell.
“Stop,” he said, realizing that his choice in wording triggered her flight or fight instincts. “Latria Mou, that is not what I meant. I was fighting with my father because he thinks I should be married and have heirs by now. I told him that I was content with my life, career, lack of position in the pack, and living in the city. When I left, heated and on the verge of losing it and going for a run, I walked into the loft and found you curled up on the couch with a book in hand and fast asleep. You had stayed up waiting for me, not even sure if I was coming home or not, but you waited. There was something so beautiful about you at that moment; hair pulled back in a lopsided, messy ponytail, the little drool dribbling from your parted lips as you softly snored.”
She glared at him.
“But ultimately, it was the way you looked at me when I crawled up on the couch with you and pulled you into me. You opened your eyes and smiled the softest, most reassuring smile I had ever seen, and that moment all I could think about was how much I loved you and couldn’t imagine coming home and not seeing that smile. You held me all night on that ungodly small couch, and I listened to your heartbeat, committing it to memory… I swear I could pick it out from a crowd of thousands since I know it so well. It greets me nearly every morning, and lulls me to sleep nearly every night.”
Akia relaxed some and tried to remind herself that not everyone wanted to capture her, wanted something from her, but it was hard to convince herself since she was currently in a cell, in heat, a black moon approached, and the object of her carnal desire was sitting on the other side of the bars completely naked.
“I hate when you’re romantic, especially when I’m in a cell, in my father’s basement, and the man I want is sitting naked not more than eight feet from me,” she said, making a face.
“I’ll attempt not to make it a habit,” he assured her with a wink.
“I’ll remind you that…” her words trailed off and were replaced by a scream of agony.
“Akia!” Damian shouted, getting to his feet.
Frantic, she ripped and tore at her clothes, trying to free herself before she completely changed. As if an invisible force was in the cell with her, Akia flew through the air then slammed into the back wall of the cell before collapsing to the floor. Her body violently shook and she clawed at the ground, collapsing each time she tried to get to her knees. She gasped and choked, her body heaving as if trying to expel the demon within her; spine lifted upward, pulling and stretching her skin as it did, before snapping downward with a sickening pop that nearly caused Damian to vomit. Blood trickled from Akia’s nose and saliva dripped from her chin before the cracking of bones echoed throughout the cellar; her maw elongated, teeth sharpened and tore through delicate gum tissue, razor sharp claws busted out the ends of her fingers and toes before her hands and feet widened then tapered into paws. She cried out in pain, but it quickly turned into a howl of agony as fine hairs exploded from her smooth skin, covering the light tawny canvas in a coat of white and light brown fur.
When the transformation was complete, she collapsed on the ground in a puddle of her own blood and saliva, and struggled to catch her breath.
Damian stood there wide-eyed; never had he seen a transformation that was so painful before. It should have been effortless, especially because she was older, but it was as if he was watching her first transformation. The pain and fear radiating from her emanated from each of her pores and coated Damian’s skin and tongue; and each labored breath she took, whimper and cry of pain, caused his heart to break.
Young wolves felt the transformation more because their bodies weren’t accustomed to the change, and more often than not they fought it. The older a werewolf got, the more they understood their body and that of the wolf constantly inside of them. Some viewed it as a partnership, but it wasn’t, not in Damian’s opinion. The wolf was an ever constant part of you, when you fought it, separated yourself from it, permitted it to have its own identity, then you were nothing more than a vessel and slave to the wolf.
Never would he be a slave to a master again.
“Akia?” he whispered, reaching in the cell, trying to touch her head.
Her eyes shot open, the amber and gold appeared to be glowing, and she snapped at his hand, luckily he was faster and pulled back before he lost a finger.
The amber-eyed wolf slammed into the bars, maw ferociously snapping at the man on the outside of the iron enclosure.
“Akia, stop,” Damian scolded with a smile, making sure he was out of reach of her snapping maw and swiping claws. “You can beat her, you can control her. I know you can. Please, fight her.”
Eve snarled at him then started pacing the length of the cell
and back again, her narrowed eyes on the man trying to take away her control.
“This isn’t you,” he continued.
She barked at him, a short, sharp bark of warning.
“No, I won’t shut up. She is mine, just as I am hers, and our relationship has no place for you in it,” he warned with a growl.
Eve slammed her body against the bars again and again, trying to find a weak spot, but found none.
“The cell will hold you,” Damian said, trying to keep from yelling at her for the damage she was indubitably doing to Akia’s body.
She snarled at him.
“I didn’t know you were a wilk,” he continued, taking a seat on the floor then wrapped up with a blanket. “It has been decades since I’ve seen a Polish wolf. They are rare…maybe that is why you are female?” he speculated aloud, anything to keep the snarling, growling, blood thirsty werewolf across from him from doing anything else that would hurt the woman he loved. “I doubt it though. The Polish wilks that I had the pleasure of meeting were very wise and patient. This one, Adalbert Wolkwitz, he was a very amusing creature, endearing and patient, and his comedic timing was even more awe-inspiring than his knowledge in Western European packs and lineage. For five years my father subjected me to Adalbert’s tutelage. I only word it as subjected because I acted as if I didn’t want to go, that I hated it and wanted to go home, all in order to hide the truth from Father: I loved it. Adalbert’s pack was much like yours, only much larger. Children freely ran around, no one hid their wolf, and they were affectionate. Adalbert had seven wives, which I thought was six too many, but they loved him and each other very much and enjoyed the smaller pack residing within their home… A pack within a pack, one of his wives called it,” he said with a chuckle.
Eve glared at him, her top lip snarling up over her fangs.
For hours Damian sat there talking, rambling at times, all in an attempt to pull Akia to the forefront of her wolf’s mind, but Eve was stubborn and strong. A part of him speculated, which caused a sense of understanding, why Akia and Eve were two very different creatures, apparently; Eve was without conscience and protected them, and Akia was the level-headed and sane one between the two. He didn’t want to, but he honestly pitied her because of the apparent severe confliction within her, which would create the two very different personalities. He had questioned for years why she took such high dosage of Risperdal when she wasn’t crazy in the least, but he was starting to realize that Eve might be.
Damian looked at the pacing, snarling wolf, his heart heavy with sadness. “I will teach Akia how to control you, Eve,” he warned, questioning his sanity for a brief moment because he was talking to her as if it wasn’t the woman he loved.
Eve growled before slamming against the bars, her maw wildly snapping and claws sweeping as she tried to get at him.
“Akia is stronger than she knows,” he informed her. “I know she is. She will beat you and take control of her wolf, or I will,” he warned.
Varg softly snarled under his breath as he paced the length of the living room and back again. Connell was called to the latest body just outside of Haven. Louvel was drinking wine, watching the smaller, blue haired wolf hop around and spin in circles, expending what was left of his lunar energy. Rafe was listening to the police scanner, trying to pick up any chatter that might help point them in a direction since the two in the cellar hadn’t emerged even though the sun had been up for over an hour.
“Uncle, I am going to punt that blue-haired mutt to America if he doesn’t sit down,” Varg warned.
Ulrik growled at him then started jumping up and down even more, spinning in circles on his hind legs as if he were a trained bear at the circus simply to antagonize the sulking Viking.
Louvel chuckled. “He is merely trying to get you to play with him. You have been in an absolutely bitter mood since catching our guest’s scent.”
Varg growled under his breath. “If I would have known that silly girl was entertaining an heir of the Lykos, I would have ripped his throat out the moment I had the displeasure of catching his scent!” he said, his voice carrying rather well throughout the stone-walled manor. “You know the risk,” he continued, his pacing resuming. “If the Alpha of the Lykos, if his father, discovers Akia and Eve, they will take her and try to use the lone female as a bitch for breeding. I’m sure he already knows!” he yelled the latter. “They are just waiting for her to let her guard down. How could she be so foolish as to sleep with the enemy?”
Ulrik looked to Louvel; he was confused.
“Nephew,” Louvel said with a heavy sigh, “the Lykos are not the enemy. They are merely a very large pack with very deep and extensive roots, and are much respected in the werewolf community. They know of the wolves of Haven, and yet they do not press our presence being so close to their territory-”
“We were here first!” Varg interrupted, and Ulrik growled, his hackle rising. “Zip it, Pup.”
Louvel patted the wolf’s head, trying to calm him down. “We were first on the Island and in this remote territory, that is true, and the Lykos spread from the Central and Southern regions until they had ultimate control over the Northeast, but they could have easily taken our territory if they longed to do so.”
“Arno Manikas of the Lykos is a patient wolf, one that doesn’t fear anyone or anything, especially a small pack like ours,” Varg argued. “And now an heir is under our roof, and we’re to simply entertain the bastard as if we are beneath him?”
Rafe chuckled, joining them, and tossed the notes he’d taken from the police scanner to Louvel to look at. “The only one under him is little sister,” he pointed out. “That’s what your major malfunction is, Brother. He seems nice, dotes on her and…there is something in the way he looks at her that tells me he isn’t a threat.”
“Sizing her up for auction, you mean,” Varg snarled.
“Oh yes, because everyone wants a psycho bitch and a police officer that knows thirty ways to kill a man without a weapon,” he retorted, rolling his eyes. “Speaking of, how’s the arm? You’re lucky it was only a flesh wound.”
Again, Varg snarled; he was still in disbelief that Akia shot him. He had pictured, in his head, them reuniting in a different means, one that had less clothing involved and passion to the likes of nothing he has experienced with any other female before. The taste of her, the warmth of her body, and the scent of her skin still haunted his dreams, leaving him painfully aroused in the morning without an offer of release. The few women he had entertained for a passing moment, mainly in an attempt to sate his sexual urges to prevent his wolf from doing it, could never satisfy that primal need.
Only Akia could, and he wanted that back.
Seff and Beowulf hurried through the front door and into the living room.
“Where is Eve?” Seff demanded.
Louvel sat up taller. “The cellar; she and Damian have not emerged yet. What is wrong?” he demanded.
“Did she leave the manor at all?” he pressed, rubbing his bald head.
Ulrik shook as if trying to shake out his fur before it fell away all over the area rug then stood, erecting himself. “No. I sat in the stairwell all night. Her man spent hours reassuring her that he would help her overcome Eve, and that Akia is strong enough to control her… Eve is her wolf, right? Like the Viking asshole named his Adam, hers is Eve?”
Beowulf nodded then he and Seff went around and closed the interior shutters on all of the windows on the main level, assuring them as much privacy as possible.
“Eve is her wolf; the name means first,” Rafe explained, watching the other two move around as if ready for war. “Akia means first as well… Father is amusing like that when it comes to the simplicities in life. She didn’t leave,” he said, turning to the Alpha. “Her scent isn’t present, obviously.”
“Not by the backdoor, sunroom, or any of the windows,” Seff confirmed.
“They haven’t left that icebox in the basement,” Ulrik said, looking between them conf
used. “Last I heard he was unlocking the cell once snoring came from within. After that I started running around the house to piss off the grumpy one. What’s going on?”
Beowulf looked around. “Where’s Fae?” he asked, noticing that one of his sons were absent.
Rafe smirked. “In the carriage house,” he said. “After his run he got into the whiskey, danced his naked ass to the carriage house then passed out in the backseat of the forty-six Ford.”
Seff growled; he’d have to detail his precious car once the drunk, naked Ginger Bear got up.
“When did he turn in?” Beowulf pressed.
“Two hours ago,” Louvel said. “Boy, go check on your brother again.” Once the young man was gone, he looked to Beowulf. “My old friend, what is going on?”
Connell entered through the back door, locking it behind him, then pulled his shirt over his head as he headed towards the laundry room. “They found another body,” he called out; the stench of the Stray was all over his clothing from moving the latest victim, and it was starting to bring out his wolf in a territorial means. “We knew it was going to happen, the black moon was too much to withstand, but he struck outside of Haven, beyond our borders.” He stripped out of the rest of his clothing, throwing them in a sealed bag, double bagging the clothing to keep the scent from spreading around the manor then started scrubbing his hands and arms in the utility sink with soap. “It was a young man, fifteen years old; blood alcohol level was three times the legal limit.” He stuck his head under the tap to scrub his hair, neck, chest and shoulders.
Varg growled, loudly, irritated that his annoying brother was more concerned with the stench of the Stray then telling them what had transpired.
When Connell finished cleaning up, he joined the others, drying his hair with a towel with one hand and spraying some air neutralizer with the other. Once the house smelled of imitation cotton and spring rain, he motioned with his chin for Rafe to light some candles just in case; the risk of Eve visiting unannounced if she caught the scent wasn’t something he had time for. “The Stray didn’t play with the latest victim, and didn’t even attempt to hide it,” he said, mentally exhausted. “A scent was all over the body, as if he rubbed up on him, every inch of him and his clothing… He isn’t hiding anymore, and apparently he’s bored now.”
