by L. E. Horn
I pushed him a second helping. When Peter dumped a handful of wontons onto Josh’s plate, I realized that he’d seen it too. Josh laughed when I poured on the sweet-and-sour sauce for him.
“Seriously, guys, I’m fine.” He noticed sauce on his hand and lowered it for Keen to lick.
“Stop feeding her junk!” Too late.
“Are you insulting my carefully prepared dinner?” His dark eyebrows danced with amusement.
“She’s gonna get fat. My vet will have a fit.” I frowned at him.
“You are your vet,” Josh pointed out.
“It’s just sauce,” Peter said. “Not like she gets any of the deep-fried stuff.”
We looked at him. He’d been standing right there in the kitchen when I’d given Josh hell for giving Keen the shrimp. Josh glanced at me and gave the slightest of shrugs. Maybe Peter hadn’t heard? But no, he’d commented on me eating them for years. To hide my reaction, I shoveled in a mouthful of chow mein noodles. Peter lost a helluva lot of blood that night. The doc said there could be long-term effects.
We polished off a truckload of food, but Josh had bought enough to ensure leftovers for after our run. For now, we moved to loungers on the deck and finished the meal off with a beer, making casual conversation as the sun sank toward the horizon.
Keen had run with Peter and me for the last two nights, and she spun in circles and barked when we stood and began to strip. Peter and Josh were relaxed with their natural selves, watching as the darkness chased the sun’s rays across the sky. I moved slower, self-conscious of my naked body. If Chris or, heaven help me, Sam, had been there, I would have endured teasing about it. But Peter pretended to not see, and Josh was preoccupied with the horizon, his pale eyes alight with the promise of the letting loose of our wulves.
Peter changed first and fastest, Josh next, and I, still thinking my way through the process, was last. I started with my hands and feet, visualizing the thickening of the fingers and the formation of claws and narrow pads. My jaw lengthened and the teeth moved into place. I grunted when my collarbones popped away, but it wasn’t as painful as the first time. After the initial change, they didn’t completely reattach. My shoulders shifted forward, and the blades changed orientation, standing more upright along my lengthening ribs. I dropped to all fours as my pelvis rotated and my leg muscles thickened, the tendons pulling my ankles off the ground, leaving me on my toes. Finally, a tail burst through my skin as my tailbone straightened and extended. I panted as the last vestiges of pain left me.
Josh’s black mane fell long and thick around his wulfy face, and you could just see the heavily kinked human hair mixed in with the fur. Now a handsome gray beast, Peter cleared the deck railing and landed on the back lawn. The new spring grass tickled my feet as I followed, Keen and Josh hot on my heels.
Keen had to go full out to keep pace, and sometimes we had to wait for her, but tonight I figured she had extra calories to wear off. So we challenged her to a race, leaping off the trail and into the trees, making the trunks and branches sway as we moved through them like great apes, claws gripping bark and powerful legs pushing off to send us forty feet through the air. Then we’d hit the ground, digging our fingers into the soft dirt, coiling our backs to snap our hind legs past the fore, and our front legs adding momentum and direction, lifting just before the hind impacted the dirt. Followed by the glorious leap, airborne as our spines cracked straight and our lungs dragged in air, reaching for the next landing with claws extended toward trees or rock or solid earth. Aware, always aware of every scent and sound, tongues panting through open jaws lined with razor-sharp teeth.
We’d run off the initial burst of crazed energy when a hare flushed directly in front of Peter. In a flash of teeth and snap of his jaws, he caught it. We skidded to a stop. Wulfan hunted, but I’d never seen Peter do it. He stood over the dead animal, blood dripping from his mouth, and the look in his eyes made me shiver. The world seemed to spin to a halt around us. Keen, panting and curious, paced forward to sniff the hare.
That’s when Peter went for her.
I was too far away. Even as I leaped, Josh hit Peter from the side, throwing off his aim. I landed between Keen and Peter and turned, snarling at him. My dog yelped and cowered behind me.
For a moment, Peter pulled himself tall on all four legs, every hair standing erect. I matched his body language, not backing down an inch, while my heart pounded. I didn’t want to fight Peter. But, what the hell?
Josh backed up to stand beside me. He held his head lower than Peter’s out of respect, but his lips pulled back from his teeth.
“No, Petur,” he said.
Peter blinked and shook his head, pawing at it as though his brain hurt. Then he made a strange woofing noise, turned, and vanished into the woods with a single leap.
Part of me wanted to follow, to pin him down and ask him what the hell just happened. Because I was pretty sure I’d just seen Peter lose control of his wulf. Josh nudged me, and I saw the fear in his gaze. As we headed back, Josh running beside me with his tail low, my heart pounded. Was this because of the brain damage? Was it affecting Peter’s control over the wulf? And if he lost control of his wulf—what would the enforcers have to do then?
As we loped along the path with Keen between us, my mind continued to fill with questions.
And I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers.
* * *
I waited for Peter long after Josh had gone home.
“He’ll be beating himself up over this,” Josh said when he rose to leave. “He’ll run it out, so I wouldn’t expect him to return before morning.”
I stretched out on the deck lounger and waited. Eventually, I dozed, trusting Keen to wake me if Peter showed. Her anxious whine snapped me out of an uneasy half-sleep. I blinked to see the gray beast trotting from the woods with the first rays of the dawn, and I stood to greet him.
Peter changed back to human and walked up the stairs toward me. I attempted to keep my eyes on his face. I couldn’t get used to the nakedness. Keen slunk to him on her belly, and it made my heart hurt to see it.
He looked at her and then up at me.
“What’s wrong with Keen?”
He doesn’t remember. My jaw must have hit the deck because he frowned. He ran from it all night, and now he’s forgotten.
“You tried to attack her last night,” I said, watching his reaction.
His eyes turned dark with horror, followed by confusion. “I wouldn’t . . . she’s like my own dog.”
“It’s okay. It was a mistake. She came up to sniff the hare.”
“What hare?”
I fought to keep from frowning, but his words had my heart racing. “You flushed a hare and killed it. Keen came up to sniff it, and you lunged at her.”
“I killed a hare?” His eyes widened, and the pupils dilated oddly. “God, Liam, I’m sorry. Must have lost it for a minute there.”
And then forgot about it. I watched as he bent over to ruffle Keen’s fur until she wiggled.
“It’s okay. You’re still recovering. Do you feel all right now?”
“Yeah, fine. A little tired. I need to crash.”
“Okay. Don’t worry about this. Just get some sleep.”
“You been sitting here all night? You have to work.”
“I’ll be fine. Go to bed.”
He nodded and headed into the house, but he wore a troubled expression. I yawned and grabbed the rest of the Chinese food. Might as well have breakfast. When Keen looked at me and wagged her tail, I relented and tossed her a piece of ginger beef.
I had bigger worries than an overweight dog.
* * *
Apparently being tired and distracted was not a good combination for keeping my inner shaggy under control. I had clinic duty that morning and managed to terrify three cats and four dogs, two of which peed on the floor. Mandy shot me a look when she hauled the mop away from the last incident.
“Again! Excrement, Liam. What is up with you?
”
I snorted at Mandy’s latest profanity substitution as Darlene swept by on the way to x-ray, a sedated dog in her arms. “Having trouble with your inner werewolf again?”
She wasn’t looking at me as she spoke, so she didn’t see my reaction at her offhand, but surprisingly accurate, comment. Mandy caught it, though.
Her face cracked with a rare smile. “You have an inner werewolf?” She shook her newly pink forelock out of her widening gaze.
I rolled my eyes at her and headed into the next room, where a client waited with a snake having issues shedding its eye caps—sometimes they stayed stuck when the rest of the skin shed. I sighed with relief, because reptiles usually reacted the same way to everyone, including wulves.
During my lunch break, I gathered the last of the chow mein from our fridge—ignoring a clear container holding a tumor waiting for analysis—and took myself and my troubled conscience out to my SUV to call Doc Hayek.
I watched an approaching storm darkening the sky as I explained the events of the previous night. “Should I be worried about Peter?” I asked him.
Although I wanted to hear everything would be fine, I knew in my heart it wasn’t.
“I expected there to be memory loss of that evening but continued short-term memory disruption may be a sign of other issues. It is possible the injury has triggered an early onset dementia. Only time will tell if it is permanent or temporary.”
My heart contracted sharply. “Could there be anything else causing it?”
“Peter’s not on any medication that I know of, so it isn’t a side effect. There are supplements designed to assist with memory issues. I’ll send you a list. Meanwhile, he’d better not run alone, not until you’re sure what’s going on.”
“Okay.”
“When is Chris back?”
I remembered what Sam had said. “Soon, likely.”
“Good. He’ll handle it.”
What the hell does that mean? I gritted my teeth and told myself to calm down, Chris was as close to Peter as I was. He wouldn’t turn enforcer unless he had no choice.
“Liam?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Thanks, Doc. Take care of yourself.”
“You too. Keep me posted.”
I sat and ate, my stomach twisting so I could barely swallow. Should I have called the doc about Peter? No matter how I chewed on it, there was no obvious answer. Josh had witnessed Peter having problems, so he would tell Chris even if I didn’t. When it came down to it, I didn’t understand enough about how these things worked.
I lifted my phone again, reaching for red-haired advice.
The call went straight to voicemail. I hung up and watched as fat raindrops splattered the windshield.
A moment later, my phone came to life, singing about the beast inside. That’s a little too close to home.
I punched the button.
“Hey, soldier. What’s up?” Her husky voice gave me a much-needed lift.
“Maybe I just want to gossip,” I said, meaning for it to come across light, but clearly failing.
“What’s wrong?”
I told her, trying to keep everything as factual as possible. When I finished, she was silent for a few moments. “There may be more than one thing going on here. When the hare jumped out, Peter should have kept control over his wulf. Hunting pushes the boundaries, and for someone of Peter’s experience, it shouldn’t have been an issue. But if he’s experiencing blackouts . . .”
Blackouts? “He killed the hare the second it jumped out in front of him. Like he wasn’t even thinking about it.”
“That means the wulf must have been close to the surface. He may have been losing control over the course of the run. The hunt took him over the edge. But afterward, when he forgot it ever happened—that could be a different problem.”
“Is that as bad as it sounds?”
She sighed. “Chris is on his way home.”
The lack of an answer was in itself an answer. I struggled to remain calm. “That’s part of what I’m worried about.”
A hesitation, as if she chose her words with care. “I realize you’re new to the wulfan way. This thing with Peter may be temporary, or not. Either way, Chris loves Peter. He’ll do right by him.”
Yeah, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I cleared my throat. “So, have things wrapped up there?”
Sam hesitated. “I’m telling you this because I’m sure Chris will tell you, anyway. We had to put down five wulfleng in that Brandon uprising. They all were teetering on the edge of losing it. They fought back hard and we had to take them out.”
She sounded unsure as to how I’d react. I tried to imagine Sam ripping out their throats.
“Doesn’t seem like you had any choice,” I said.
My comment elicited a sigh. Relief that I accepted she could kill another living being? Not a talent normally admired in a potential girlfriend. Is that what she is?
Oblivious to my internal debate, Sam continued. “A medical examiner, one of ours, autopsied two of them. She found some—anomalies—in their physical makeup.”
Anomalies? What did that mean?
Sam went into information mode, but I thought I detected strain in her voice. “Do you understand that if they die in human form, there isn’t anything obvious that tells them apart from other humans? Unless it’s a full moon, the virus lies quiet until called upon for the change, and they would have to code the DNA to detect the difference.”
I hadn’t known. “Okay. But the DNA would show they weren’t human, right?”
“The virus alters our DNA, but the code for human is still present. So testing shows human, with anomalies. Usually, with a body so clearly human on the table, the techs decide the sample has been compromised. It isn’t easy to believe monsters walk among the general population.” She exhaled. “The boards monitor these things, so if something looks like it’ll become an issue, the enforcers step in to deal, and they ensure the evidence is destroyed. Wulfan don’t often end up on the average medical examiner’s table.”
Interesting, and the information raised other questions I set aside for the moment. “Right. But what was strange about the bodies?”
“Two died in wulfleng form and were evaluated by our examiner. Now, two is hardly conclusive, but still a bit much to be a coincidence.”
“Sam, what did she find?”
“Enhancements. Their hearts and lungs were enlarged, teeth and claws too. Muscles, double the girth of usual.”
“But the virus enhances those things.”
“Not like this. They were more than your average wulfleng.” Something in her voice resembled fear. Couldn’t be. My Sam was not afraid of anything. My Sam? When did I start thinking that?
She continued talking. “It’s no wonder it took so much to bring these guys down. If we hadn’t been well armed—no way we could have taken them out with tooth and claw. My dad’s still healing.”
I tried not to visualize Sam sliced to pieces by some mutant wulfleng. “What does it mean?”
“We still have to figure that out.” She paused again. “When I saw Dillon that night, it twigged for me. Chris and my dad now agree about these Brandon wulfleng—in wulf form, they were dead ringers for him. Huge, all muscle. And full of rage.”
“How’s that possible?”
“I don’t know. But the examiner’s wondering if we’re looking at a new variant of the virus.”
My heart stopped. “A new version?”
“Yeah. The examiner, Chris, and my dad have been hashing it out.”
A firm rap on my window made me jump, spilling my forgotten chow mein all over the passenger seat. Mandy stood there in the rain. I raised my eyebrows as she mouthed something that included pretty colorful language without the usual substitutions, before she turned and ran back toward the doors.
“I’m sorry, I gotta go.”
“Chris will be home tonight. I’m running about an hour behind him. I’ll be driving out with Garrett. We’ll talk
about it then.”
“You’re coming? You just got back to Brandon.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to see me?” she said, a teasing note in her voice.
I laughed but didn’t rise to her bait. “You’ll be here for the run?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” This time, there was no mistaking the growl.
“I’ll get to meet the other man in your life.”
She made a huffing sound. “He’s no longer a real man, remember.”
I did remember her comment on Garrett being castrated. “Is that for real?”
“I’ll let you figure that out on your own.” Something in her tone indicated lips peeled back from teeth, but I privately doubted Garrett lacked any of his parts. Not that I took anything for granted with this she-wulf. “In that case, I’m likely not far behind him.”
She snorted. “See you soon, soldier.”
I brushed the chow mein off me, got out of the truck, and ran through the rain to the clinic.
Mandy met me at the door. “It’s fracking coming down like shrimps out there. Whiterock Dairy has a horse that needs your help. They need someone out right away.”
A horse? Whiterock only had one—Barb’s old show horse, Buster. The animal was in its twenties, which made the emergency worrisome. My mind still buzzed with the information Sam had given me as I collected Keen from the kennel, and we were soon in my truck, me driving and her cleaning up the chow mein.
She was going to need a long run tonight.
18
I walked into a situation that seemed to be in its final hour.
Barb’s husband Todd had met me at the barn and directed me to the scene. “We put Buster in the woodlot to clean out underbrush,” he explained as we walked toward the back of the farm. “Barb wanted to turn the area into a place we can sit in the evenings.”