by L. E. Horn
I glanced at her—pretty?—just as Chris clouted me on the shoulder hard enough to rattle my still healing ribs.
“You’ll be fine.” His grin revealed long, white canines.
“Go easy on him,” Sam laughed. “He’s still fragile.” She grabbed me by the arm. “Speaking of which, we’d better remove those last stitches, or you’ll tear them out when you change. You don’t want to do that. Ouch.”
“I can get the doc to do it,” I protested as she led me out of the barn.
“He’s busy with Peter. And besides, where’s the fun in that?” She tugged me through the back door, past the bustle in the kitchen—where I was sure I heard Josh make an indecipherable comment to Matt and laugh—and through the house to a chair in the library before releasing me. “Now, strip.”
“I bet you say that to all the guys,” I said, stalling for time as I lowered myself to a sitting position. My butt still hurt.
“Off with it, or I’ll help.” She surveyed me with a raised eyebrow. “You so don’t want me to help.”
She’d come prepared, flourishing a small pair of scissors and forceps from a pocket. I sighed before removing my tee shirt.
“Go easy on me, okay?”
“Of course,” she said and got to work.
The cuts on my biceps and shoulders had almost healed. The head gash hurt when she removed the sutures, and a corner bled. She dabbed at it with a finger. “That one will heal when you change.”
“Changing heals you?”
“Depends on where the injury is. Your ribs will improve. Areas that stretch or alter can pull apart an existing cut. But your scalp wound should heal.”
“My legs and arms?”
She grimaced. “Not so much. You’ll bleed. Some might need re-stitching.”
The deepest slices on my forearms bled when she cut the sutures loose, but I thought they looked better, and the hunks of missing flesh had filled in. My scars from the parts already healed were impressive, though, twisted and pink against my tanned skin.
Sam bit her lip as she trailed a finger along a blemish, and my breath hitched. She glanced at me, her eyes dancing.
“Nice scar,” she said, and laughed. “Better than ink.”
Oh, God. Is this her idea of flirting? Give me strength.
“Okay, pants.” She bounced to her feet, gesturing to my legs.
“Look,” I said. “Hayek is in the barn. He can do them.”
“I’ll see you naked in another hour, anyway. What’s the big deal?”
“See, you think that’s helping, but it’s not.”
She did this thing with her eyes. Turns out Josh was right about Sam. I sighed, stood, and dropped my pants.
Because jeans pulled too tight over the cuts, I’d worn sweats. I held them bunched in front of me like a shield, a fact that kept Sam amused as she leaned over my thighs, scissors held ready.
“Hmm. These will be—unpleasant—during the change, I think. Hard to say for sure.” She got busy with the forceps and scissors.
By the time she’d finished, blood dripped down my legs.
“If you put your sweats back on, they’ll get wrecked,” she said.
I pulled them on, ignoring her. The blood seeped through in several places as I tugged my tee shirt on too.
She shrugged and left the library with a smile, and I followed, realizing I wore a similar expression. I had to admit, having no one worried about my first full moon reassured me. After what had happened with Dillon, Chris said it should go without a hitch, that I’d have no problems controlling my wulf. If only Peter woke up, I could relax and enjoy it. Or at least endure it. Whatever one does during one’s first full moon. As I watched Sam walk ahead, my gaze dropping below the castration zone, my fantasies ran wild. Until she turned and caught me.
Her eyes bored into mine, slid to my crotch and back to my face.
Message received. I grimaced and kept my focus above her head, just to prove I could.
* * *
To someone who has never felt the call of the full moon, it’s hard to describe, but I’ll do my best. It started as restlessness deep in my muscles and escalated to a crawling sensation beneath skin suddenly too tight for the flesh. My joints ached and my bones burned at the core, as though flames ate at the marrow. And my teeth kept emerging through my gums—I wiped away so much blood my hands became a gory mess.
I noticed everyone flexed their fingers, and we went barefoot, to allow our toes to do the same. We all needed to move, so we ended up in an impromptu soccer game. I suggested football, but apparently full-body tackling was not recommended this close to becoming a wulf. As we hoofed the ball, our voices took on an intensity mirrored in our bodies. It resulted in a fierce father-daughter fight between Matt and Sam that seemed to center on her sister becoming an enforcer, but I thought it could have been pre-moon jitters. Either way, the fight finished our game before the sun had set, leaving me with a pile of nervous energy. When Chris and Josh disappeared for a brief time, I understood.
I gave up pacing through Josh’s intricate gardens and headed into the barn to check on the doc and Peter. Doc Hayek stood in the aisle, stripped to his shorts, doing deep knee bends.
“Group sports aren’t my thing,” he said, straightening. “I get too cranky on the full moon.” The doc wasn’t a tall man, but he was ripped. Again, I wondered if there were overweight werewolves.
I considered Sam and Matt, still yelling it out on the lawn. Yeah, perhaps knee bends would have been wiser. I glanced into the cage. The door had been closed and locked, and I noticed that the IV and catheters had been stripped off Peter. He lay quiet on the cot. I scratched at my chest and wiped more blood from my lips. Outside, the sun sank below the horizon, and with a tingling deep in my bones, I sensed the moon.
Suddenly, everyone stood there with us: Sam and her dad, still glaring daggers at each other, Josh and Chris, the doc and me. They stripped in silence, piling their clothes against the wall. I followed suit, although I had to fight for the nonchalance the others took for granted.
Well, almost for granted. When I caught Sam sneaking a peek, I raised my eyebrows but managed to stop my hands from doing the fig leaf cover.
“This is an equal opportunity moment,” I said.
She grinned and walked closer to the cage. She had to roll onto her toes to see through the bars, and as she did so, my eyes wandered along her shoulder. In the dim light, I noticed fine silver lines running from her neck and down to her ribs. With a shock almost visceral, I recognized claw marks—not as many as Chris had, but on her they seemed a thing of beauty, like someone had drawn on her skin with a fine silver marker. They stood testament to the fierce fighter she was—enforcer, to the core.
Her face was solemn when she turned from the cage, but she caught me looking at the scars and an eyebrow tweaked at me.
“Hey.” She drew my attention back to her dancing gray eyes. “You. Mr. Equal Opportunity. Eyes up.”
Caught, my face heated. “Yes, ma’am. Just admiring your scars.”
“Better than ink,” she said, as her jaw began to change. As though taking the hint, mine followed, the bones creaking as they stretched, the teeth sliding into place. I snarled in pain as the wounds on my shoulders and arms broke open, the blood dripping from my clawed hands.
One by one, they dropped to all fours, except me. I stood before the bars, gritting my teeth as my legs thickened and the tail burst forth, watching Peter.
His body twitched as the wulf took over, silver hair chasing the change down his spine to his tail. His legs thrashed, and with a suddenness that made me flinch, he flipped off the cot and landed on all four feet.
Heavy breathing beside me announced the arrival of Chris, fully transformed. He twisted his head on his thick neck, rolled his shoulders, and met my gaze before looking at Peter.
Sapphire eyes looked back at us and blinked. My pulse raced, the wulf within wanted to run, to howl, and it made me tremble. But the man in me squint
ed at the silver wulf in the cage, looking for Peter in that pale gaze. I saw acknowledgment of my presence—or was I imagining it?—and as the blue orbs scanned Chris’s face, something that could be pain. Chloe, I thought. I’m sorry, Peter.
And then the silver wulf stood up and the mouth opened, “Lium.”
I dropped to all fours and danced in a circle like an overjoyed dog, getting my silly long legs tangled up and almost falling over. Sam came over and poked me with her nose, and Chris wrestled the cage door with his wulf fingers to swing it open.
When Peter walked stiffly out on all fours, I almost knocked him over with my enthusiasm. His jaw dropped, tongue lolling out.
“Lut’s run!” he said.
I let go of the human and gave over to my wulf, who took me out of the barn on unsteady legs. Sam stayed on one side of me, using her shoulder as a brace when I wobbled, and Peter on the other. I pushed on, getting the rhythm of my strides, finding it easier to move. I curled my spine, brought my long hind legs ahead of my forelegs, and hit the ground, launching into a huge, joyful bound. I focused on the physical process, extending my spine in midair as I leaped, gulping air through gaping jaws, snapping my forelegs down to nail the landing, coiling my backbone as the air left my lungs, and pulling my hind legs forward. As the trail took a turn, I dug in with my foreclaws—one side more than the other—leaned into the turn, twisting to stagger the fall of my hinds, my body curving as I sprang. I missed a tree by inches, but my forefeet landed on the trail.
From my side, Sam chuffed approval, her russet coat shining red in the moonlight. As we ran and leaped, I abandoned myself to a world devoid of planning and forethought and lived each moment in a rush of sensory input—the rich, diverse layers of scent and sight and sound. My blood sang, and my heart soared.
We are alive.
As we ran, we spread out, traveling in near silence through the forest. I remained aware of every move my new friends made through the barest rustle of leaves or their musky scents carrying on the cool night air. The russet wulf darted through the branches, appearing to nudge me with her nose or shoulder and then vanishing again like smoke.
My nose caught a scent and I slid to a halt as my brain struggled to match it with an image. Sam must have been watching me, she materialized to drop her muzzle alongside mine. Our shoulders brushed and my heart accelerated.
“Martun,” she identified with a lupine grin.
A rustle from the other side, and a silver wulf appeared. Peter stopped and made an odd huffing noise. As I sensed Sam stiffen beside me, I saw his ears flatten and a lip lift, revealing a fang.
“Petur?” I tilted my head, uncertain. The wulf in me wanted to snarl back and I had to clamp down on the urge.
“Who ur yu?” Peter growled, his sapphire eyes sliding from me, to Sam. “Gut awuy frum hur.”
While I stood stunned, Sam took a step toward him. “Petur. It’s Lium.”
His vivid wulf eyes darted from her, to me, and with a sinking heart, I read the confusion in them. “Lium?” He took a deep sniff in my direction. “Lium’s a wulf?”
“Just new,” I added. He’d seen me change. Brought me to Chris after Dillon infected me. Why didn’t he remember?
Peter broke eye contact with a shake of his silver-maned head. “Rught,” he said, and spun to vanish into the forest, leaving me frozen with worry.
Sam’s silvery gaze locked with my own. I caught an echo of her own concern in them, before she touched her nose to mine, and her warm tongue swept out across my jaw.
Was that a wulf kiss? Electricity zipped from the contact throughout my body. Sam’s jaws opened as she danced away, and my inner predator followed. Soon we raced again through the forest, tracking the scents of the others. My legs still had an unsettling tendency to tangle, and I had to keep part of my focus on my striding. But as I trailed the blur of russet hair through the underbrush, my thoughts strayed back to Peter.
My old friend had almost died. He’d suffered a fractured skull, so there were bound to be side effects. It might make sense that he’d forget I’d been infected with the virus, as well as the part he’d played in it.
But he’d seen me shift in the barn . . . and he’d known me then. How could he forget so soon?
A wulf with jet black, slightly kinked hair appeared ahead—Josh. He glanced back over his shoulder and clacked his jaws at us. Sam put on a burst of speed to range up alongside, and I dug my hind claws into the soft earth and thrust my body into the air.
I came back to earth on Josh’s other side and he gave me a wulfy grin of approval. My worry uncoiled as I once again embraced the joy of exploring my new body, and my new world.
Peter was alive, and that was the important thing. Even if he got confused on occasion, it was a small price to pay.
Chris took us to a hill and the entire group paused, panting. Then he raised his muzzle to the sky and howled. We joined in, our voices rising and falling in a harmony only nature could understand. We pumped everything we had into that chorus: all our pain at the ones we’d lost, the uncertainty behind what had happened, the relief we had not lost more, the joy of running free and of being with friends.
No, not just friends. Family.
The call of the wulf.
And I was one with them.
16
We ran for hours, until hunger and the fading moonlight drove us back to our human skins. I watched Peter change with trepidation, but although he looked weary, he came back to two legs with everything functioning as it should. And he gave me a tired smile which eased some of my worry. I noticed the doc watched him too and seemed satisfied.
Neither of us mentioned what had happened in the forest.
We spent the early morning hours at Chris’s, sprawled on whatever flat surface we could find. Matt chose the cot in the cage, preferring it over the couch in the basement, which is where Keen and I ended up. Sam claimed the spare bed with an arched brow, daring anyone to argue.
None of us did.
Josh and Peter worked together on whipping up a breakfast suitable for—well—an entire pack of hungry wulves. There was even a bone for Keen, who carried it down the hall. I considered following to stop a possible burying in the bedclothes, when Peter mentioned Chloe.
He’d finished a plate of pancakes when he paused to stare at his fork. “I kinda remember you guys talking. I know she’s gone,” he said. “But I don’t know how she died.”
Silence fell around the table, and Josh looked stricken. Chris glanced at him and leaned forward, his eyes on Peter. “Dillon—well, we suspect now that he and Chloe were mates.” I realized Chris had been about to say Dillon attacked her, and I was glad he didn’t. Peter didn’t need to know what the beast had done to her.
My old friend’s eyes widened in shock. “Mates? Are you sure?”
Chris nodded. “When Dillon lost it, it took Chloe over the edge too. We found her unconscious on the path. We left Josh with her, and when she woke up, she attacked him, bit his throat.”
“His throat?” Peter’s face lost color, and I worried that this was too much for him, too soon.
Chris nodded and shot me a glance before continuing. “Liam had taken on Dillon. When Josh mentioned Liam had gone after her mate, Chloe lost it. He flung her off, her head hit a branch, and it killed her. It was an accident, but if Josh hadn’t done what he did, she would have tried to kill him. She’d gone almost as mad as Dillon.”
“How did I miss they were mated?” Peter shook his head and his brows drew down. “Dillon carried a dead sheep into the yard. I think we fought about it. That’s all I remember.”
He retained no memory of Chloe trying to kill him, and maybe that was for the best.
“You may never regain your memories of that night,” Doc Hayek told Peter. “That knock with the bat fractured your skull, and you lost so much blood you were lucky to escape serious brain damage.” He cleared his throat. “My advice: let the past remain in the past. Go on with your life since you’v
e been granted another shot at it.”
Peter nodded, his face grim, and rose to wash the dishes. Josh got up to help him, his expression filled with sorrow. I found a measure of comfort in the doc’s words.
When Hayek made his excuses and stood to leave, I walked him out to his car. I noted it was a well-kept older model. Very practical—like the doc.
“Keep an eye on Peter,” Hayek said, tossing his bag into the back seat. “His body has had a hell of a shock, and you may notice lingering effects from the blood loss.” He opened the driver’s door and fixed me with a look. “Let me know if anything seems off.”
I opened my mouth to mention the incident in the woods, but stopped myself. This society played by a different set of rules. Memory loss for a wulfan carried with it implications that scared the crap out of me. I decided I’d give it some time. It might never happen again. So I simply nodded. “I’ll watch him,” I promised.
When I returned to the kitchen, the talk had turned to plans for the immediate future, one in which wulfleng featured prominently.
“We could use you in Brandon, Chris. Just for a few more days,” Matt was saying as he helped himself to more bacon. “I don’t know where those wulfleng disappeared to, but there are more, I’m sure of it. They must have someone organizing them or they’d be more obvious.”
Chris’s attention drifted over to Josh, standing with Peter at the sink. Josh chose that moment to return to the table, picking up more empty plates. His gaze locked for a moment with the enforcer, and something wordless passed between them.
“You gotta do what you gotta do,” he told Chris, but he smiled. “I’ll be fine. Go play big bad enforcer.”
Chris snorted, but his expression lightened.
Sam’s eyes flicked between Josh and Chris. “We might be fine on our own, Dad.”
Matt shook his head. “Those wulfleng are big suckers. Whoever is behind this has a recruitment strategy, and size is at the top of the list. We had a hell of a time putting them down. I think we need Chris.”
“We have Garrett.” And she grinned, which I interpreted more as baring of teeth. “And me. And Cass wants to get experience—”