“Why?” Sam wasn’t sure he cared, but maybe he should keep the madman talking.
“The bitch arrested me, and when my brother tried to put her in her place, he died trying. Fucking cunt! I’d rather have her here than you, but maybe she’ll get her turn, and if not, well, she won’t get over you.”
An image flashed through Sam’s mind. Bobby barrelling into him, pushing him aside. Something heavy disturbing the air as it rushed past. Chantelle crying out Bobby’s name. Bobby in the road, his body broken. Chantelle pleading with him, and…Bobby changing.
An old joke came to him: Husband and dog missing; reward offered for the dog.
A man’s best friend was his dog.
Bobby, Chantelle, where are you?
“You’re Charles Manning.” Sam might have recognised him if the man wasn’t so unkempt.
Green eyes glittered in a face badly in need of a wash, let alone a shave, glared with the maliciousness of a demon. “Well, aren’t you just fucking clued in?”
Carl Manning had tried to run them over. Had tried to run Sam down. Not that Carl or Charles seemed particular which one of them they killed, as long as they hurt Chantelle doing it, but Sam was sick of being the target. Charles grinned at him.
“I said the injection wouldn’t kill you, but soon you’ll wish it had.”
Sam searched for something to say. His mouth had gone dry. He might die here, and not in a good way. He prayed he wouldn’t wet himself. Was that weakness?
The fuck it was. Being courageous despite being afraid, was the definition of bravery and if dying—suffering—saved those he loved, he might have volunteered, but Sam was intelligent enough to know his death wouldn’t suffice for this lunatic. After Sam, he’d try for Bobby or Chantelle, and they wouldn’t let this go until they had their revenge. Their animals would want retribution even if taking it destroyed the type of people they were. Fact: if Charles Manning killed Sam, he would succeed in his plan, because Sam’s death would destroy the essence of who Bobby and Chantelle were and turn them savage. Sam knew because it was what their murders would do to him.
Manning was moving to the side, taking hold of a rope.
“Wha…? No!” Sam tried to kick out, tried to keep his legs together when he noticed Manning had tied separate ropes around each of his ankles, but no way could he hold his legs closed as Manning yanked on each pulley. Manning anchored both of his legs separately to fastenings Sam strained to see. Now he hung in an X from his wrists with his legs open.
Manning studied him, head cocked to one side. “Let’s begin with your bad leg, shall we?”
Chapter 7
The husky swivelled its head to stare back the way he had come. His mate would catch up fast, but he dared not wait. The human—No! Not any human. Sam. Sam was hurt, in pain. Terrible pain. The knowledge buzzed in the animal’s brain, and the dog shook its head as if to get rid of an annoying fly.
Bobby hadn’t taken long to work out where Manning had most likely gone. The dairy was such an obvious choice. Still, a human search party would take considerably longer to organise. Once he’d deduced the possibility, he’d run flat out taking the shortcut through the woods. Bobby allowed himself to become more animal than human, to use his senses to a greater degree, and edged closer to the building. He was inspecting the perimeter when a scream made him start so violently his flight reflex almost kicked in. Every nuance of the scream acted upon Bobby as a physical force, one powerful enough to deal him a blow.
Mate. Lover. Save. Kill.
It took all his resolve not to go charging in, but, although he was fast and strong, he had to find a way in without alerting the man inside. Bobby clung to his human mind, trying to bridge the realms between human and animal to give Sam the best chance of survival.
He’s hurt. Terribly.
Burying the knowledge, Bobby carried on around the building. He found a break in the wall and crawled through. He’d never killed before, but if tearing a throat out to save Sam was what he had to do, so be it.
* * * *
Chantelle stopped the car and peered down the incline. Hadn’t taken her long to find the tire tracks or to spot the trolley at the side of the road. She put her foot to the pedal and sped away as fast as the country lane allowed, alert in case she spied Bobby, slowing as she approached the turnoff to the old dairy.
The building lay hidden by the trees, and not everyone knew of its existence. There was no reason for her to believe the building was where she should go, but she knew of Bobby below. His fear called to her. If he was there, Sam and Manning were too. Should she drive straight on? She might alert Manning, and she didn’t know the situation yet. Despite the longing to charge in, she manoeuvred the car back, easing off the road, hiding the vehicle amidst the foliage, and got out. Should she shift? Hard to know without more information. She couldn’t afford several changes in one day.
Deciding to make her way closer first, Chantelle took the faster route through the woods, trusting her instincts. She ran well as a human—not as fast a dog, but surefooted enough not to slip or fall. She had almost reached the building when she heard distant shouting.
Manning. If he shouted Bobby had attacked him. She didn’t hesitate. She ran around to the far side, found what she presumed was Manning’s van parked next to a side door. Grabbing the handle, she tore the door open and sprinted inside. Mindless of her own safety, she ran into mayhem, slipping in something, but not paying attention to what.
Manning was on the ground trying to fend off Bobby. The most frightening thing about Bobby wasn’t his attack, but the silent method. However, Manning had a knife, making Bobby cautious. Grabbing an iron bar from the ground, Chantelle moved in, knowing Bobby had spotted or smelled her, even over Manning’s foul stench. They worked in unison. Bobby took hold of Manning and dragged him up, giving Chantelle perfect aim. The sound of metal and skull connecting sickened her, but she didn’t waste time caring whether she’d killed him. Manning slumped, and Chantelle didn’t hesitate in moving in to tie him up.
While she worked, Bobby shifted. He spat. “Fuck, I can taste him.” Bobby swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, maybe over his tongue. As soon as Chantelle was sure Manning was secure her next thought was for Sam, but, as she rose, Bobby squeezed her arm.
Chantelle went cold as she spied more knives…Blood. She’d slipped in Sam’s blood as she entered.
Even knowing, she took a moment to accept the shape hanging there was Sam. There was so much damage she struggled to assess his condition. His legs were broken. Skin hung loose. Chantelle cried out and would have thrown the bar she held aside, but Bobby grabbed the weapon out of her hand and laid it down, with care. “Let’s not wake him,” he said. What did he mean? Another glance at Sam and she understood he was unconscious. The pain had driven him under.
“We need to get him down.”
She didn’t move.
“Chantelle, we need to get him down.” Although Bobby spoke softly, the steely tone speared through her shock. Nodding, she moved, unsure how she would touch Sam, afraid she’d hurt him more, but she made herself follow Bobby’s commands without flinching. As they laid him on the floor, he made a noise. His eyelids fluttered.
“We need an ambulance.” Bile rose to her throat as she spoke, remembering the last time she’d heard those words. That time, Sam had meant to call one for Bobby. Then, as now, an ambulance would take too long and be useless to them. “We can’t…” Can’t emerged sounding so full of despair Chantelle stayed mute. The sentence she didn’t complete ran through her mind: We can’t save him.
“It’s okay.”
About to tell Bobby he was out of his mind, it sunk in he wasn’t the one talking. Sam opened his eyes, blinked. His face tightened in pain, mouth opening in a silent scream. His eyes went wide. Someone sobbed: her. Sam’s gaze flicked to hers. His right hand flopped, seeking. She held on although their hands slid together, Sam’s blood slippery. Should she pray he’d bleed out fast? If they c
ould not save him, she wanted to spare him pain.
“Don’t…cry.”
He was blurry through her tears. Why was he saying that? How could he be saying…that? How could he care about her feelings even at a time like this?
“Bobby?” Sam’s voice rasped.
“I’m here.” Bobby spoke, but not from her side. Before she could search for him, he was back, flinging a rucksack to the floor, sorting through it.
“Bob…” Sam’s voice went tight with pain.
“I’m right here. Hush. I know.”
Sam shook his head. “Love you.”
“I know. I love you too, Sam.” Even as he said so, Bobby took something from the bag, examined it. Chantelle sniffed, wiped at her eyes. Bobby met her gaze.
“Kathleen said something about telling Sam to inject himself, right?”
She nodded.
“Then I’m assuming this will knock him out.”
“Na-No.” Sam touched Bobby as if to stay his hand. Chantelle believed she understood why. Oblivion might be an end to his pain, but if these were his last moments, they were precious.
Bobby caught hold of Sam’s hand. “Do you trust me?” Sam’s frown spoke of pain but also puzzlement. Bobby’s tone became urgent, trying to break through Sam’s agony haze. “Sam, you have little time, not enough for me to explain. Do you trust me?”
Unbearably slowly, Sam nodded.
“What I’ve got planned may or may not save your life, but if I don’t do this thing, you’ll die. Do you understand? I need you to say you do.”
“Answer him, Sam,” Chantelle urged. Whatever Bobby had in mind, like Sam, she trusted him.
“I…trust. Agree.” Despite his words there was a note to his voice, a touch of sadness. Sam believed Bobby was about to put him to sleep, and he’d never wake again. Bobby picked up on that too. He prepared the injection before he leaned over, touched Sam’s face.
“If I can save you, I swear I will. I love you, Sam. We both do. If you don’t wake up, it won’t be because I didn’t do everything to try.”
With a swallow, Sam nodded. Bobby administered the injection, and a few seconds later, Sam closed his eyes.
* * * *
“What are you doing?”
Bewilderment peppered with loss made Chantelle’s voice waver. Bobby didn’t need to catch it in her scent, and would have struggled to do so. The smell of Sam’s blood was overwhelming, called to the animal part of him he didn’t like.
A few feet away, Manning moaned. Bobby went across, checked his bonds; fastened more rope around him. Blindfolded him.
Bobby returned to Sam, breathing hard, preparing for the change. For the most difficult type of transformation.
“Bobby?” Chantelle stared at him with a wide-eyed gaze, realisation dawning across her face. “It’s not…possible.” She was shaking her head for many reasons, a few Bobby could guess at.
“I’ve witnessed it.” He tried to reassure her. “Twice.”
“And what happened?”
“One died. One lived.”
“Altered?”
“Yes.”
“A hybrid?”
“Yes.”
“Do we want that for Sam? Does he?”
“You’ve got about fifteen-seconds to decide.”
“And if I say no?”
“I’d rather you said yes. You put him in my path, Chantelle. He and me, we should have parted ways. You told me how he felt, brought us together. I love him as much as I love you. I know you love him too, but he’s mine as much as you are.” He might as well have been telling her Sam was his to do with as he liked. He didn’t mean it quite that way, but his animal did. “I’m not ready to lose him. Not like this.”
Chantelle nodded. “Neither am I.”
With no time to spare, Bobby went to Sam’s side, shifting, slowing the transformation, controlling it. This time there was pain, but he pushed it back, buried it. He concentrated on Sam’s agony, which, even though Sam now lay unconscious, was still part of his body. Bobby’s animal sensed it in a way his human half never could. His animal knew of Sam’s life draining away.
The sound of Sam’s slowing heartbeat faded as the noise of bones cracking, muscles stretching, others contracting, took over. Bobby took one look at his hands and saw the limbs of a…thing neither man nor animal, similar to the creature Sam would become. He leaned forward and bit him.
Chapter 8
What Bobby attempted was the stuff of monster movies, yet when Bobby claimed it was possible, Chantelle believed him. Bobby never lied to her. Most shifters changed into the pure animal form. What Bobby spoke of was a legend.
Now, she witnessed the truth.
Some powerful shifters controlled their change, sometimes even hovered between the two. She didn’t know whether Bobby was capable, but he slowed the shift enough to have time to bite Sam while he was changing. More myth, as far as she was concerned—had been concerned. If Bobby had proven one legend was true why not another? There were supposedly two ways to become a shifter. One was to be born, the other bitten.
The reality wasn’t so simple. Not all shifter bites infected. If Chantelle bit a human while she was in dog form, it would be a dog bite, nothing else. Nasty to be sure, but the injury wouldn’t cause a metamorphosis. What she watched Bobby do left her with so many questions, but they all came to transmogrification. The word fitted because the ability was so legendary many shifters linked it to transformation through magical means.
Bobby had bitten Sam and held on. When Bobby had pulled back, there was too much blood flowing from his mouth to account for. He’d bitten—she didn’t know what: his lips, his tongue, maybe both?—and mixed his fluids with Sam’s. The moment he’d pulled back, Bobby completed the change, rolling over on his side, ribcage heaving. He’d shifted more than once this day and shown her a display of power of which she’d never dreamt him capable. The husky was exhausted.
Which left Sam in her care. She’d already tied off the flow of blood where possible. Seconds ago, he’d been so close to death. He now lay so still his chest hardly moved. Trying to search for a pulse in his neck proved fruitless. Her fingers slipped in his fluids; if a pulse existed, it remained weak. She placed the side of her face over his mouth trying to detect his breath. She wasn’t sure. Should she check his heart?
Trying to ignore the smells calling to her animal, telling the beast inside her Sam was a thing made of flesh, she overlooked the fact she would get blood on her face and in her hair, and rested her ear over his heart. A thud told her he still lived, but…No! There! His heartbeat gained strength.
Pulling back, she looked to his face, so peaceful, at rest. Chantelle prayed to anything in the universe which might listen not to let this be Sam’s final sleep.
Something snapped. Sam’s body jerked. Chantelle gasped.
She glanced at Bobby, whose mismatched gaze flicked to her then back to Sam. They had no choice but to wait to see whether they would soon witness something amazing.
* * * *
“What is that?” Not for the first time Charles Manning demanded to know what the wet snapping, sucking, sloppy noises were. Not for the first time Chantelle walked over and kicked him.
“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!”
Bobby opened his mouth but instead of objecting shoved a biscuit in his mouth. Maybe he should tell her to stop, but her reaction was better than her pacing. The sounds were of Sam changing, his body re-knitting, reshaping. Bobby had shifted back into human form as soon as possible. To change so often in one day—including the slow alteration—left him feeble. Dehydration made him shiver. The need for nourishment had at least taken Chantelle’s mind off her fear for a few minutes. She’d run to fetch the car, returning with blankets and food. Having broken down in the past without water, and needing extra when they changed, meant they always kept water and biscuits in the car. Not healthy, but a fast sugar fix. Bobby now drank and munched, wrapped in a blanket, breaking off occasionally to
move Sam’s limbs.
“You knocked him out so he wouldn’t feel any of this,” Chantelle whispered, having helped Bobby hold one of Sam’s legs in place as the muscle and bone popped under their hands. Her scent told him she felt queasy, but not once did she flinch. He would need to remind her why he loved her when they got through this.
“I’ve heard…” He cast a glance at Manning. Better not mention shifters. “I’ve heard a few are strong enough to cause this no matter what their form. My father did this twice. I’ve never tried. I was his eldest. I’ve done it the way I watched him do it and hope it takes. I’ve no idea if it’s the only way it would work.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Manning called out.
“Shut up!” Bobby and Chantelle shouted in unison.
“Sam has not only the pain of healing but the change.”
“He’s going to…” Chantelle shook her head. “I’ve so many questions. You gave him your saliva and blood?”
Bobby nodded. “I don’t know what generates the change so tried both. I seem to remember that’s what my father spoke of. I was young. I can’t recall.” He went silent for a moment. “He won’t be like us. I’m not powerful enough. I’ve no idea if there are any left who are, or if it’s ever been possible. But if he survives, he’ll still be Sam.”
“When will we know?”
“When…If he opens his eyes.”
* * * *
She dozed, and in her dream, Chantelle ran through the forest. Aware she dreamed, she experienced a strange combination of pleasure and disappointment.
Two dogs chased her. The reason they hadn’t caught her was because they circled each other, sharing playful nips. She didn’t mind. The chase was fun, and the breaks allowed her to catch her breath, prolonging the run. The race neared its end. One dog circled to the front, cutting off her escape. The other persevered at her heels.
Chantelle put on a spurt of speed, tried to go left. The first dog cut across her path. The second nipped her ankle.
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