Feral

by Lee Mae

  “Anything new on the case?”

  Every nerve in her body came alive. She held her breath and closed her eyes. She knew she shouldn’t tell Wes about the DNA results. That was the last thing this case needed. She pushed away from the kitchen table and began pacing the room.

  But as she held the phone, something unraveled in her mind, her thoughts sliding past each other, with nothing connecting or making sense. Maybe she had this all wrong. Maybe Wes was the one who could help her make sense of all of this and put it all into perspective. He was a cop, for heaven’s sake, he knew how things worked. He knew Brody…what he was capable of…knew more than Mike ever could…

  Serena slammed her fist into the kitchen door. The solid oak door barely moved in its frame, but her hand was instantly on fire, the pain filling her mind. She dropped to the floor, cradling her hand beneath her other arm, a wheezing gasp escaping her lips as she rocked back and forth.

  “Serena? You okay? What was that noise?”

  “Nothing.” The pain was intense but it cleared her head. Wes was doing whatever the hell it was he did to her mind, sinking his thoughts into her mind, confusing her, clouding her judgment.

  “Nothing new on the case.” She stood and staggered to the sink. She managed to turn on the cold water and stuck her throbbing hand beneath the stream. Her hand was already swelling and she wondered how many bones she’d broken. A detached part of her brain noticed her ring finger stuck up at a strange angle. Then a wave of nausea passed over her and she closed her eyes, leaning heavily against the old porcelain sink.

  “Okay. I just wanted to make sure if you needed…”

  “I don’t need anything right now, Wes.” She tried to make a fist, but the pain was too intense and she stuck her hand back beneath the water.

  “Serena? You sound strange. Maybe we should get together. I’d like to see you again, even if it’s not about the case. You know how we are.”

  “I said I don’t need anything, and I don’t want to see you now, Wes.” She gritted her teeth against the pain and then against the sudden onslaught of images that flooded her mind. Images of her and Wes, of every moment they’d spent locked in each other’s arms, every sound they made echoing in her ears. She felt his mouth on hers, his hot skin beneath her hands. Then there were more images, things that hadn’t happened, her on top of Wes, riding him hard, his hands on her breasts. Her heart thudded in her chest, just as fast as it had while he’d been driving himself into her, filling her…

  She smashed her hand against the side of the sink. Instantly the images were gone, replaced by searing pain. Another wave of nausea came over her. This had to end.

  “Wes. I can’t...I have to go.” Her voice was choked with pain. She flipped the phone shut and instantly dropped to the floor, crying out, cradling her broken hand as the phone skittered across the linoleum. It rang again but she ignored it, grabbing the kitchen towel hanging from the stove and wrapping it around her hand, tugging it as tightly as she could, screaming as the bone ground together.

  She grabbed the edge of the sink and pulled herself to her feet. The phone stopped ringing but started again almost instantly with Mike’s ring tone. There was nothing she wanted to say to him. Or anyone.

  Right now, she wanted to see Brody, to be with the only person so far who seemed to really understand what was happening. She felt as pressured as he must have felt, forced to run away from…or run to…someone.

  There was an old parka hanging by the back door and she hurriedly shoved her arms into the sleeves, crying out as her hand caught on the cuff, tugging on her finger. She grabbed her car keys and ran, her sneakers slipping on the icy steps.

  The few short blocks to Brody’s took forever as she tried to drive one-handed. She drummed the fingers of her good hand on the steering wheel, sitting impatiently at the only stop light in town. It turned green and she hit the gas, her tires slipping on the snow-covered blacktop.

  Her car lights splashed across the snow as she turned onto Mill Lane. There were tire tracks, tracks she didn’t remember seeing earlier. But then, on her mad scramble out of the mill house, she hadn’t been paying attention. Maybe Brody had gone out? With a sinking feeling, she wondered if he’d left after all.

  Serena slammed on the brakes and the car slid on the packed snow at the end of the driveway. Lights were visible in the downstairs windows and she sighed with relief. He was still there; he hadn’t left her. She climbed out of the car and ran up the front walk.

  The front door stood open and she stepped inside, running down the short hallway into the living room. The room was empty, as was the room to her right, some sort of storage room.

  “Brody? It’s Serena.”

  The blow came from behind, hitting her on the shoulder. Her left arm was numb, for a shocking instant, and then pain blossomed hot and heavy, flowing down her arm. She instinctively reached out with her broken hand, whimpering in pain as the towel-wrapped hand collided with something hard.

  32

  “I wasn’t expecting you this soon. What a fucking mess.” Wes Callahan stepped forward, gun in his hand, and grabbed her arm roughly. Serena felt the broken collarbone grind together and her vision went gray for a moment, the room swimming, as Wes dragged her forward.

  “You’re sure fucking things up, Serena. He was supposed to be dead by now.” Callahan motioned to the couch with the gun where Brody sat, eyes narrowed, body tensed. A large bruise covered his cheek, his eye swollen shut. Blood ran freely down his left arm from what looked like a bullet wound. He looked up at Serena, his eyes registering pain and confusion. His face was pale, sweaty.

  “I had this all planned out…you were supposed to lead me to this bastard. You’re the first female detective that I’ve come across in this fucked up mess, and it was going to be so easy…so perfect. Until you shut me out of the process.” Callahan shoved Serena, and she landed on the couch beside Brody, hitting his injured arm. She heard his sharp intake of breath then felt his warm blood seeping through the arm of her parka.

  Callahan leaned close to Serena, his eyes dark, so dark they were almost black. “I had you right where I wanted you, you little bitch. You were like clay…softer than clay.” Callahan pointed the gun at Brody. “Bet pretty boy here didn’t make you scream like I did.”

  “Leave her alone, Callahan. She has nothing to do with this. This is between you and me,” Brody spoke through gritted teeth. He was tense, anger radiating from him in waves.

  Her mind raced, wondering what the hell she could do, realizing just how helpless she felt. They were both injured, and she prayed Brody had enough common sense to not try something stupid with Callahan.

  “She’s in this now, right along with you.” Callahan waved his gun back and forth between them. He slowly circled the couch, stopping behind them.

  Brody turned his head, opened his mouth to speak, but Wes cuffed him with the butt of the gun.

  Serena cried out, watching as blood began to well from the deep cut on Brody’s cheek.

  Callahan leaned forward, between the two of them, resting his arms on the couch, as if it were just the three of them, having a casual conversation. His breath was hot against her cheek, and then his mouth was on her neck, kissing her, licking her skin. It took all of her control not to jerk away. More than anything, she wanted to attack him, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not with a broken hand and a messed-up arm.

  “Did she tell you I fucked her? Hard…and she loved it, every minute of it,” boasted Wes.

  “You manipulated me into having sex with you... I would never have wanted anything to do with you otherwise.” She craned her neck and spat at him.

  Wes laughed, a harsh sound that made her skin crawl. He walked back around the couch, standing in front of them.

  “That really doesn’t matter now, does it?” He pointed the gun at her hand. “I gotta give you credit, though. You’re smarter…a little smarter…than I thought you were. But, you were still a good fuck.”

/>   Wes lifted his arm again and wiped his face with his sleeve. Suddenly, there was movement beside her. Brody lunged from the sofa, a blur, as he launched himself at Wes. He tackled him around the waist and knocked the gun from his hand. It slid across the floor and came to rest beneath the roll-top desk. The men fell to the floor, quickly trying to scramble to their feet, moving away from where she sat.

  Her only focus now was getting Wes’s gun. If she couldn’t shoot it, Brody could. But she sure as hell didn’t want it back in Wes’s hands.

  Serena tried to push herself off the couch, but she couldn’t lift her left arm and her right hand was no use. She slid to the floor, landing on her knees. She used her elbow against the couch to struggle upright, hearing the grunts and growls combined with the thud of fists hitting flesh behind her.

  She’d taken just a few steps when an arm snaked around her neck, jerking her backward. It jarred her shoulder and she gave a strangled cry. Wes held her against his chest for a moment before pushing her to her knees, grabbing handful of hair, jerking her head back. Then she felt the cold edge of a knife against the skin of her neck.

  “You’re standing between me and getting rid of this bastard, Serena. Sorry it had to come to this, but you know, like I said before, it’s nothing personal.” The pressure of the knife intensified and Serena closed her eyes. Wes leaned down, his breath hot against her face. “I really did enjoy our...time together. Too bad it had to end this way.”

  The air was suddenly split with an unearthly howl and something rough and heavy brushed against her face.

  With a howl of his own, Callahan released her hair and she fell, landing on her side, the fall jarring everything that was broken in her body. Clumsily, she rolled onto her back and watched in horror at the scene in the living room.

  Callahan had his hands around the neck of a large white wolf…a wolf she realized was Brody. Brody snapped at Callahan’s face, his fangs barely missing Wes’s cheek. Momentum carried them away from her and they fell backward, crashing into the roll-top desk. Brody pinned Callahan to its surface, his front paws scratching against the top of the desk. She could see blood running freely from Brody’s shoulder, his foreleg obviously weak as he struggled to control Wes.

  Serena watched in amazement as Callahan began to shift into wolf form. It happened so quickly she wasn’t sure what she’d seen. Callahan’s body shimmered, wavered slightly, and his mouth opened, releasing an unearthly sound, a cry of human agony mixed with the angry snarl of a wolf. And then, where Brody had been holding down Wes, Brody was now falling clumsily across the edge of the desk as a large black wolf scrambled out from beneath him.

  Wes turned toward Brody, teeth bared. They faced off, two huge animals, mouths open, hackles raised and fangs glistening. Serena pushed herself back against the end of the couch as they circled each other.

  Brody lunged again, hitting Callahan in the shoulder with his body before agilely rolling away to avoid Wes’s snapping fangs. Brody ducked from the bite and sank his jaws into Callahan’s haunch. Callahan reacted with a howl of pain, futilely snapping at the air inches from Brody’s body. Brody pulled away, spinning back around to face Callahan.

  Both animals held their tails low as they circled one another, Brody visibly limping. They moved closer to Serena and she turned onto her stomach, scrabbling toward the fireplace. She rolled over, pushing her back against the warm stones, knocking over the wrought-iron stand holding the fireplace tools. She managed to grab one, painfully maneuvering it onto her lap, pulling her knees to her chest, bracing it between her legs, for all the good it would do. But having something as a weapon was better than nothing.

  Callahan advanced toward Brody, nails clicking on the hardwood floor. With a savage snarl, and lightning speed, he leapt.

  Brody attempted to dodge the attack, but his injured leg gave way and he slipped.

  Callahan dove for his soft underbelly.

  Brody howled in pain, the horrible sound of tearing of flesh reaching Serena, and suddenly the air was filled with the hot, coppery scent of blood.

  Brody snapped at Callahan, kicking at him with his back feet, finally throwing off Callahan’s balance.

  Callahan thudded heavily to the floor.

  Brody rose to his feet, staggering to Serena’s left, Wes ducking behind the couch. She could see blood soaking through the white fur of his flank, dripping onto the floor. He stood for a moment, panting, head tucked down. Serena saw blood flecking his lips but she couldn’t tell whose blood it was.

  The click of a nail on the wood to her right froze Serena’s blood. Hot fetid breath brushed her cheek and she turned her head slowly towards it. Callahan stood beside her, his muzzle inches from her face. She smelled blood, Brody’s blood, saw it staining his teeth, dripping from his muzzle onto the floor. Her mouth went dry and she tried to swallow, but there was only a dry clicking in her throat.

  Callahan growled low, a sound that sent chills through her. His eyes were locked with hers, his bright silver. The silver of the moon on a lake. Cold and inhuman. And in those eyes, she saw his clear intent; could read his thoughts – she wasn’t going to get out of this room alive. He took one step closer, his jaws opening, almost grinning at her, his growl spiraling into a howl.

  The shot was deafening. Instantly she was covered in something warm and sticky, and a heavy weight pinned her to the floor. She looked down, recoiling, the back of her head hitting the fireplace stones.

  Callahan had shifted back into human form and was lying across her lap, his face turned up, his gray eyes on hers. Blood pooled beneath him, rapidly spreading outward, soaking into the legs of her jeans.

  “Serena…” His voice was barely a whisper. His hand moved, brushing her arm before it dropped to the floor.

  “Serena!”

  Startled, she looked up.

  Mike stood on the other side of the couch, gun in hand, pointing it at something…or someone else. She followed his line of sight, a whimper breaking free from her lips.

  Brody was leaning against the desk, breathing heavily, in human form. Blood ran from a ragged gash on his side. He smiled weakly at her, his face pale, his body trembling.

  “You okay, Serena?” Mike’s eyes never left Brody as he circled the couch, crouching beside her. He reached down, two fingers on Callahan’s neck, searching for a pulse. “He’s gone.”

  “Mike…help me.” She suddenly wanted Callahan off of her, wanted to get away from him.

  “I need to…he’s still a suspect…” Mike was still holding the gun on Brody.

  Serena shook her head. “No, Mike, he’s not the killer. Callahan is…was. Help me up.”

  Mike reluctantly holstered his gun, his eyes flicking between Serena and Brody. He finally grabbed Serena under her arms, picking her up as if she were a child. Callahan rolled off her legs and she shuddered as his head hit the floor.

  “Oh God, Mike.” She leaned against him as he held her gingerly.

  “Where are you hurt?”

  “Broken collarbone, left. Broken hand, right. Nothing in between.”

  “Okay. Here, sit down.” He turned her around gently, setting her on the couch. There was a groan to her right.

  Brody struggled to stand, using the arm of the couch for support.

  Mike watched him warily, his hand moving back to the butt of his gun.

  “Mike…it’s okay.” She focused her attention on Brody. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “Yeah.” He turned away and rooted through a box on the floor, coming up with a pair of faded jeans. He struggled to pull them on, weaving, briefly losing his balance. Blood ran freely down his side, more than she wanted to see.

  “Mike, call an ambulance. Brody, you need to sit down. Please.”

  Mike stepped forward and caught Brody, looping an arm over his shoulder and helping him to the couch. The blanket she’d been wrapped in earlier was still crumpled on the floor and Mike picked it up, wrapped it around Serena and then, at her narrowed
look, tucked a corner around Brody as well. Mike walked across the room, grabbed the afghan from the back of a chair, and dropped it over the Callahan’s still form.

  “Serena, I’m so sorry.” Brody shifted on the couch, jostling her shoulder as he reached out for her, but she pulled away, wincing in pain.

  “My collarbone is broken. Wes.” Awkwardly, slowly, she unwrapped her broken hand, holding the damp towel out to him. “Here…you’re bleeding. Hold this against it and put pressure on it.”

  Brody took the towel, folded it, and pressed it against his side. He closed his eyes for a moment, his face going pale. Serena tried to think, tried to remember all she’d been taught about abdominal wounds. His arm was bleeding still, but she knew that it wasn’t fatal. Her mind was hazy, her thoughts cloudy with her own pain. Her shoulder throbbed, competing with the pain from the broken hand.

  “What the hell happened to your hand? Did Callahan do that too?” His voice was weak, his eyes locked onto her swollen hand.

  Serena leaned her head back against the couch. “No. I did this to myself. I was at home, on the phone with him and he…started that mind thing, whatever you want to call it. I wanted to give in, to tell him everything about the case, where you were…everything. But he already knew. He knew because he read my mind.” An involuntary shiver ran through her and she tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

  Brody looked confused.

  “I punched my kitchen door.” She held up her hand. “Solid oak, didn’t leave a mark…on the door.” Her mouth curved into a rueful smile. “Then he tried to get me to come to him…” Serena closed her eyes. “He used what we’d had together…I saw all of it – felt all of it – and then he tapped into my own desires, showed me what it could be like.”

  Mike came back into the room. “I called for an ambulance. It should be here in a minute.” He crouched down in front of Serena, his hand resting gently on her knee.