by L. E. Horn
I closed my eyes and fought the animal attempting to claw its way through my innards. She inhaled, smelling the wulf, before moving a little away from me, trying to give me space. I noticed her struggle with everything she wanted to say.
“Stop thinking so hard. I can hear you,” I said.
She snorted. “Believe me, if that were true, we wouldn’t be staring at the stars.” She squirmed on the bench. “Sorry about your job. You still going in tomorrow?”
I kept my gaze on the sky, my voice even. “Jason okayed it.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “I want to go with you.”
The waning moon cast faint light onto the earth below. “I’ll be back later in the day.”
“Jason wants you in the cage by tomorrow night.”
“Yes. Probably wise.” My voice remained casual, although the topic threatened to unravel me. Memories of Peter fighting the cage crashed through my mind, and the thought of being locked up like that was terrifying.
She leaned closer. “If you’re going, it has to be tonight.” Her voice was so low I barely made out the words.
I turned to her, and her lips curved up as she read the surprise in my expression. I should have known she’d be impossible to fool. A surge of powerful emotion rocked me. Despite her worry and her fear, she understood she had to let me go.
She nodded and blinked as she took my hand and squeezed hard. She leaned closer, her breath tickling my ear. “Hayek said he’ll have your test results this weekend. Meet me at the Alexander docks, ten o’clock Sunday night.” Her whispered words made all the fine hairs stand on end, and my heart raced.
“Tell me you will.” Her hand tightened on mine and I felt the prick of her claws.
The old docks on the Red River would provide a private place to meet. But the enforcers would know to watch Sam.
“Too risky,” I whispered. “Plus if I’m recruited before then, I might not make it.”
“Please, Liam. If they recruit you before then, put them off. You might need the information I’m bringing.”
That was true, and it would allay suspicion if I were wary. And any information that Hayek got about the virus would be vital.
“Okay,” I said.
“Promise me,” she insisted.
I locked my gaze with her gray eyes, pale in the faint light. “I promise.”
“You’ll need to ditch Garrett,” she whispered. “Text me when you get home and I’ll call to distract him.”
I admired her quick thinking. Ditching Garrett wouldn’t be easy. I wanted to thank her, but my throat closed. I nodded instead.
She bit her lip, making something twist inside me. She rose, and I thought she would walk away, but instead she leaned in and pressed her warm lips against mine. Too shocked to pull away, I was engulfed in her scent and the soft brush of her hair against my cheek, and then she was gone.
The wulf crashed against my inner walls. I ran a trembling finger along my lips and clenched my jaw. Blood ran from my gums. The bones shifted forward and then back.
“Hey, are we going to your place to get your stuff?” Oblivious to my struggle, Garrett had emerged and now stood on the lawn, hands on his hips. I wiped the blood off on my jeans, nodded, and pulled myself up off the bench.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go.”
* * *
After a brief debate about which vehicle to take to my place, Garrett and I climbed into my SUV.
“Man, what is that smell?” Garrett complained.
I wrinkled my nose at the familiar odor. “Antiseptic. I’m always spilling the stuff. Drives Darlene crazy.”
I guessed she wouldn’t miss that about me. I put the SUV in reverse and flicked on the headlights. Sam stood on the lawn—her hand buried in Keen’s ruff. For a moment, our eyes met, before she turned and dragged Keen toward the barn. I reversed the vehicle and left.
I contemplated Sam’s plan for distracting Garrett. The experienced enforcer wouldn’t be easy to fool. Part of me wanted to tell him what I planned, but Sam’s comment about him sticking to the rules gave me pause.
Garrett waited until we were on the highway before he spoke. “Do you think Chris is infected?”
My mind was preoccupied with plans for escape and it took me a moment to respond. “It depends.” I didn’t want to get into any specifics on how Josh might have given Chris the virus without biting him. It was their personal business, not mine. That Chris thought it might be possible was good enough for me.
“Well, I would think he would show signs by now.” Garrett frowned out the windshield, and I realized he had been asking only for my opinion, not to debate transmission methods.
“True,” I said. “Both Josh and Peter showed symptoms soon after they were bitten. I’ve seen no memory problems with Chris. I doubt he’s infected.”
“Maybe the virus isn’t transmitted sexually,” Garrett said.
“Or perhaps they haven’t been intimate since they found out Josh was sick.”
“Yeah, but before that. They always disappear for some private time the night of the full moon,” Garrett said, and when I shot him a look, he shrugged. “Hey, it helps with the pre-moon jitters. And sex between mates is supposed to be intense. We didn’t suspect anything until a couple of days ago, so they’ve had opportunity for Chris to be exposed.”
So maybe Sam and I . . . I shut the thoughts down before they formed. “Okay, see, you think you’re trying to help, but you sooo are not,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You might be torturing yourself for no reason.”
“I’m likely a walking dead man. That’s reason enough.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. You can’t change fate. And if you two aren’t supposed to be together, I’ll eat lima beans. And I hate lima beans.” He grimaced. “Listen, there’s more to this soul mate thing than you realize. It isn’t just about falling in love or having sex.”
I glanced at him and he grimaced. “Mates are different from soul mates. To become a mated pair, a wulfan couple have to wait until the woman comes into her cycle. That happens about every three months. Then they have to mate at least twice within hours—once as wulves, once as humans—in order for the woman to conceive. If conception happens, a chemical bond occurs between the pair that links them for life. But soul mates are different. They don’t have to go through the conceiving thing to bond.”
At this point I realized I’d adopted a pose of slack-jawed astonishment and made a grab for my dignity as he continued. “I’ve looked into it. There was one time . . . well, it didn’t fly. But the science says the connection between soul mates commences as soon as they meet. This connection solidifies when they . . . well, screw around. They can’t explain it completely—it’s almost a spiritual thing—but the more contact the two have, the stronger the link. I’ve heard some bonds are so powerful the pair experiences a type of telepathy, where they can read each other’s thoughts. It’s rare, but apparently true.” When I shot him another look, he shrugged. “Wulfan scientists have proven it has a physiological basis, something to do with the swapping of”—he grimaced—“body fluids. Not just the obvious ones, either. Even your breath contains material that can contribute, or your sweat and skin oils. The connection becomes so essential that if one dies, the other may as well die too.”
Body fluids? Christ. I had never heard Garrett speak so many sentences in a row. “Why do you care?”
“Because Sam is a friend and I hate seeing her like this. And I’m your friend too.”
“No, you’re not. We’re barely acquaintances.”
“You wound me.”
I glanced at him and he stared back at me. Then he flashed me a smile that almost caused me to put the SUV in the ditch.
I wasn’t sure I would survive Garrett’s friendship. Or that I even wanted it.
I was grateful when he fell silent as we passed through Beausejour. I accelerated on the highway out of town before turning onto the grid of mile-long gravel roads on the last l
eg to Peter’s place. We took the dogleg and I peered out across the black fields on one side and dense bush on the other.
I often traveled fast on the gravel. My SUV was an older model, but it was a well-balanced vehicle that handled the uneven surface without batting a headlight. My thoughts were on Sam and my plans to escape, when I saw the barest glimmer of movement. A dark, spiked snake lashed out from the ditch to roll partway across the road.
I braked and swerved, but we had no chance.
My right front tire hit it dead on with a loud bang and the steering wheel twisted beneath my hands. A microsecond later, the back tire on the same side exploded, slewing the truck around. Both left tires bit sideways into the road, and the weight of the SUV took us over.
My mind recorded the headlights’ arc as we became airborne, hit, and launched again in a series of bucking rolls. I slammed up against my seat belt and it gave way, the buckle flying past my face. As I flew upward, the air bag exploded, nailing me in the gut and propelling me farther out of the seat as the truck rolled. I caught a flash of white from Garrett’s airbag, and a yell from Garrett. The truck somersaulted again, and I hit the roof hard enough to see stars.
Even after the vehicle rocked to a crumpled halt, my brain kept right on rolling. I’d ended up draped along the dash, but on top was now beneath because the vehicle had come to rest on its roof. Air hissed from the airbags as they deflated, and there was no sign of Garrett. The various paraphernalia of a vet’s life littered the area that used to be the front seat. I ran a quick check on various bits and came to the miraculous conclusion that although I hurt like hell, everything seemed attached and functional.
Where’s Garrett?
The dash had been pushed into the driver’s compartment. If I’d still been there, I would be dead. The windshield had shattered when the roof collapsed almost to the hood. I squirmed my way to the passenger seat and looked through the broken window. Tiny cubes of safety glass shifted beneath me as I peered out. Something outside, a creaking noise. Was that Garrett? I opened my mouth to call out to him.
And slammed it shut as long-toed pads passed by the opening and a rank scent drifted to my nose. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
It all added up with crashing certainty. The spilled antiseptic now made sense—a scent disguise—the seat belts had likely been sabotaged. The snake I’d glimpsed had been a spike strip, placed to take out the tires on one side so the SUV would swerve and roll.
Garrett was out there, somewhere. Even if he survived being thrown from the vehicle, he wouldn’t live through the wulfleng sent to finish us, not if it was what I suspected. Mutant. And by its scent, losing its mind.
I squinted into the dark. My human eyes detected nothing. I took a slow breath, concentrated, and the world changed—details sprang to life. Despite the dim light of the waning moon, I now saw with perfect clarity. Fueled by my adrenaline, the wulf pushed forward and I let the leash slip a little more. I needed the wulf senses to determine where the mutant lurked, but also the long, flattened human body to get through the narrow opening. My jaw lengthened enough for my dropping teeth, my ears pricked to pick up the smallest of sounds.
I channeled the changes, strengthening the tendons and muscles of my arms and chest, letting the claws erupt from my thickening fingers. But at that point, I closed my fist around my wulf’s throat, stopping him cold. I gathered my human legs beneath me in the cramped space, wrapped my strong, clawed fingers around the edge of the door, and took a deep breath.
My body shot from the window with so much power I had to roll before snapping to my feet. The wulfleng was crouched beside the vehicle, focused on something near the truck, and upwind of me, so he couldn’t catch my scent. Scraps of clothing clung to his body. And he was huge, just like Dillon, with massive muscles and thick fingers ending in wicked curved claws. He would have the advantage against my wulf form, but I had another weapon in my arsenal.
I slipped out of my shirt so he wouldn’t hear it rip. Sorry, Chris. With my mentor’s warnings about the dangers of partials ringing in my ears, I focused on my claws, lengthening them until I had ten-inch razors on the tip of each finger. I thickened my wrists and forearms, expanded the muscles of my upper arms and the connections to my chest and back. The changes came easily to me this time, the bones and muscles responding eagerly to the images formed in my mind. I knew I would pay for them later, when the adrenaline wore off.
In the faint moonlight, I saw movement at the wulfleng’s feet—Garrett. He’d also changed to wulf and was struggling to free himself from the SUV’s weight. The wulfleng loomed over him, jaws agape, and it muttered at Garrett, something I couldn’t hear. Standing on my two human legs, I snarled, pulling my lips back from long, pointed fangs, and the beast spun around to face me.
The wulfleng snorted as it assessed me, and I sensed its confusion. I smelled like a wulfleng but stood as though human and looked like neither. My face was caught between the wulf”s long muzzle and the flat human face. I possessed wulf eyes, but not the forehead or fur, and my neck and the set of my shoulders remained that of a man.
It woofed at me, an exhalation of rotting breath. “Humun,” it growled, “yu die.”
“I’ve been told that before and by someone scarier than you,” I said. My muzzle wasn’t long enough to distort the words, and his ears twitched in surprise. I’d get only one shot at this. If he figured out what I was up to, it was likely game over. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to just run home to mommy?”
It snarled and sprang, forelegs extended, claws glinting in the moonlight.
I raised an arm and ducked, deflecting the extended forelegs over my head with my right arm while thrusting with my left hand, palm up, fingers splayed wide for maximum damage. The jolt of contact ran up my entire arm, but I clenched muscles and ripped deep and upward through flesh and bone.
The wulfleng shrieked and shuddered, his heavy body carrying me to the ground with him. His clawed hands scrabbled at me, and I pulled my right arm back, before whipping it forward. With the full power of my enhanced shoulders behind them, the claws, long as daggers and sharp as razors, sliced through his throat, all but removing his head from his body in one swipe.
My entire left hand had ended up inside him and I put my booted foot on his chest to pull. It came away with a sucking sound that made me wince. My stomach clenched as I straightened to see Garrett watching me with wide sapphire wulf eyes.
“Lium?” he asked, panting in pain.
I pushed away the nausea. Some enforcer I’d make. “Let me check for more,” I said, my voice hoarse.
I did a full circuit of the truck, but all I found was a baseball bat, lying nearby. About a hundred feet back, the spike strip lay in the ditch. I left the strip and lifted the bat, wondering, before I realized claw marks would be bad if they wanted our deaths to be due to the accident. Linking it with anything wulfy was their main worry.
But the wulfleng hadn’t been holding the bat when he’d crouched over Garrett. He’d lost control and shifted to wulf, rather than remaining human so he could use the bat.
They’ve yet to work out a few kinks on those soldiers.
When I returned to Garrett, he’d reverted to human, but his fancy designer duds had not survived the night. He watched in silence as I assessed his situation. The SUV had rolled onto him, pinning him from the hips down beneath two tons of vehicle. It had come to rest in the field next to the road, so the soft ground might have saved him from serious damage.
“Can you dig me out?” he asked.
The vet in me screamed, call for help! but neither wulfan nor wulfleng could use human emergency services. Pain and anesthetic tended to bring the wulf to the surface, so we relied on our inherent ability to heal and a handful of wulfan doctors.
I looked at my hands, the long claws reflecting red in the dim light. I concentrated and they diminished in size, pieces falling off until only my normal human nails remained. I sensed Garrett’s incredul
ity as I crouched beside him and tried slipping my hand into the mud alongside his body. He was wedged tight and digging would risk the truck shifting more weight onto him.
“If I lift, can you slide out?”
He stared at me. “What do you mean, if you lift? Christ, Liam, you can’t lift a truck.”
“You might have broken legs or a pelvis or both,” I said. “Do you think you can pull yourself out, yes or no?”
Garrett glared at me. “Yes. I can pull myself out.”
“Get ready.” I stripped, including my boots, and positioned myself beside him before closing my eyes and visualizing. I’d done enough now that the process was familiar. My arms and shoulders were already there, I needed to tie them into my core with bigger and better tendons, muscles, and ligaments, before extending the treatment down through my pelvis to my legs and feet. The muscles shifted and danced beneath my skin.
When I looked down at Garrett, I thought his eyes would pop out of his head.
“Bloody hell,” he said.
I crouched beside him, my feet spaced about shoulder width apart, and wrapped my hands around the back doorjamb, the window of which had disintegrated into millions of tiny cubes surrounding Garrett. I thickened my fingers and regrew the claws so they sank into the door.
“Ready?” I asked.
He twisted to lie on his side, propping himself on his elbows. “Ready,” he said, his voice strained, but determined.
I shoved my spread toes into the soft mud and pushed off them, the muscles in my legs trembling as they straightened, my core holding strong. The SUV creaked as the near side lifted off the ground.
Garrett grunted in pain, but he moved, dragging himself along. One leg emerged out from under the truck, the bones bent at unnatural angles.
I dropped the truck with a crash of metal, and tiny bits of glass tinkled to the ground around us. Garrett’s leg was badly broken, but when I ran my hands down his hips and the other leg, everything felt intact.
“If you’re finished groping, we need to call someone.” His voice was hoarse with pain, but he held it together.
