by Sarah Noffke
So he’d recognized Zephyr. He’d wondered if that would be the case, based on their limited time together at the lab. To Zephyr’s benefit, he was pretty recognizable with his jet black and silver hair.
“I want to help you,” Zephyr said, taking a step forward.
Rio’s large shoulders hunched down, his almost black eyes glowing in the dark. He looked like a bull about to charge, and Zephyr honestly thought he’d prefer the horned animal to Rio.
“I want you to help me,” Zephyr added. “That guy in the bar deserved what you did to him, but we both know that the way you reacted isn’t you. It’s the wolf. I know people who can help. Who can protect us from the ones who did this to us.”
“I don’t need prot—” Rio began and then stopped mid-sentence. “How do you know about the bar?”
As Zephyr neared, he could smell the liquor on Rio’s breath. And he could also see the craze in his eyes. The alcohol had unleashed the beast and it wanted a fight. It wanted to tear into something.
“The people I’m working with, they told me,” Zephyr said and then sucked in a breath. Rio’s hand had shot forward on the heels of his words and were now wrapped around Zephyr’s throat. In a swift movement Rio plucked him off the ground, holding him in the air. He tried to suck in a breath, but the grip was too tight around his throat. Zephyr pictured he looked like a doll hanging in the air, his feet dangling. His hands reached for the grip around his neck, but that was a useless attempt. Then he realized he didn’t need to fight Rio. He only needed to assert his influence. In the dark of the night Zephyr’s gray eyes glowed for an instant, the wolf making its presence known. Then through the constriction around his throat he said, “Put me down now!”
Rio’s eyes widened and he loosened his grip on Zephyr, almost letting him slip from his grasp. And then the silver of a blade materialized in front of his eyes and for only a second Zephyr didn’t know what it was.
“Drop him or I slice open your windpipe, big dog,” he heard Rox say on the other side of Rio. She was tall and her heels made it so holding a knife against Rio’s throat from behind him wasn’t too difficult.
The grip loosened as the fear in Rio’s eyes slipped to the surface. The boiling rage now took a bow to self-preservation. Zephyr’s hands pried the fingers off his throat and he reunited with the ground with a thud, backing away immediately. “We don’t want trouble,” Zephyr said, his voice calm, but with authority. “I want you to calm down and not resort to violence.”
Rox pulled the knife away and sidestepped just as Rio spun to face her. His eyes grew large with awe and confusion at the sight of the girl brandishing a five-inch hunting knife.
“You pulled a knife on me,” Rio said, stepping toward the girl who didn’t look at all flustered.
“You picked up my boy. Think we’re even,” she said, a laugh in her voice.
“It wasn’t actually necessary. I had it under control,” Zephyr said to Rox, irritation written on his face.
“Yeah, you did, but it’s no fun if I don’t get to play too,” Rox said.
He only shook his head before turning his gaze back on Rio. “We really need your help,” Zephyr said, gaining his attention. He sounded authoritative, but also calm. It was the voice he used when things were stressful, but he still needed his men to get the job done. “The only way we can all stay protected and fight whoever turned us into werewolves is if we band together. I’m working with an organization that will protect us, help us and possibly fix this mutation. I want you on my team. I want your help reassembling the pack.”
Rio blanched with honest confusion and then scratched the back of his head. “Team?” he said, like that was the hard part of this to understand. “You’re building a team?”
Zephyr shook his head. “No, I’m putting us all back together. Someone, an organization, abducted us and made us into werewolves. You know you can’t forever exist doing whatever you’re doing and trying to suppress the wolf. For one, the people who did this to you are out there and they want us back. And secondly, it starts with bar fights and it ends with murder. You know the wolf can’t forever be tamed.”
“So what are you proposing?” Rio said, and his stance had changed drastically. His shoulders were low now, and his chin tucked, like he was slightly bowing to Zephyr.
In the not so far off distance, Zephyr heard the sirens. The shouting. The authorities had been called and they were looking for Rio by now.
“Come to the Lucidite Institute with us. From there we can explain everything. And I have a feeling you’re going to be extremely useful in future cases,” Zephyr said.
“Cases?” Rio said.
“Yes, we have two werewolves. You’re the third,” Rox said. “But we need to bring them all in before they’re caught by Olento Research.”
Rio eyed Zephyr, his brown eyes really seeming to lock in on him, to discern in that moment if he could be trusted. Zephyr watched as the man before him swayed, but only a small degree, before reshuffling his feet into place. “Fine, I’ll go with you, but I want to stop for street tacos.”
“No can do,” Rox said, pointing at the black SUV. “Get in. The place we’re taking you to has the best barbacoa in the world.”
Zephyr tossed a look of astonishment at the girl. Her humor and need for mischief knew no end. Rio was going to be a raving mess when he got to the Institute to find the place only served vegetarian food.
Chapter Fourteen
“Hugo Stetson – Age: Twenty-three. Height: Five foot, ten inches. Weight: One hundred ninety pounds. Hair: Blond. Eyes: Blue. Ethnicity: White. Employment: Agriculture. Skill: Unclassified. Rank: Unknown.”
- Lucidite Institute, Werewolf Project File
Frosty dew coated the prairie in front of Hugo Stetson’s modest cabin. He stood on the front porch, inhaling the warm steam rising off his hot coffee. Without electricity he still managed to brew the perfect cup of coffee every morning. Without electricity, he’d managed to do a lot. After the escape from the strange place in Los Angeles, Hugo had made his way back to the quiet fields of Oklahoma. He’d stopped looking over his shoulder, thinking the awful men from the laboratory were chasing him, once he’d hit the state line. And now he slept just fine at night, knowing it was nearly impossible for anyone to locate him so far off the grid. There wasn’t anyone around him for twenty miles, he’d guessed.
It had been strange that the inheritance that he’d rejected years ago had come to be his very savior in this tumultuous time. His grandfather, who was someone he’d despised, had left his property to Hugo. However, the cowboy never took his birthright because he’d never reconciled the mistreatment he’d witnessed his grandfather carry out on so many occasions. Maybe if the old man who raised him had slapped and pushed him around it would have been all right. Yet, his grandfather was a bully to the helpless. To the innocent. And he ran one of the largest and cruelest organizations in southern Oklahoma. The Leap Frog Rodeo. Hugo shivered with disgust at the idea of a rodeo. There wasn’t a viler thing he could think of than taunting bulls and roping poor calves. Well, there were more awful things, like what had been done to him in that lab.
His animosity at his grandfather only grew when later he realized he’d never accept Hugo for who he was. All his life he’d heard the remarks, the angry talk about “fags” and the problems they created for society. And on the day Hugo came to terms with the fact that he was homosexual was the day he realized he was pretty much an orphan. If his only blood relative knew the truth, he’d probably kill him, or at least beat him like he did the horses.
Even though he thought returning to the nine hundred acres of farmland would riddle him with old feelings of disgust, it had actually been a healing experience. Hugo hadn’t dared to occupy the farmhouse on the north end of the property, the one where he lived with his grandfather before he moved out. Instead, he’d taken up residence in the old mining shed on the far end of the property, the part that was still undeveloped and too far off the main roa
d for anyone to notice him. From that home base he’d been able to construct a better home, the small cabin where he resided now. Presently he lived the life he’d always dreamed about but had been too overwhelmed with social pressures to fully experience. Before the devilish scientist converted him into a werewolf monster he’d worked on other people’s farms, always wishing it was his own. Always moving from town to town, based on where the work was. But he had a home, and land, and the fresh dawning of potential as the quiet life before him spread out.
Through the fog over the ridge of the prairie, Hugo spotted a sight too perfect for his eyes. He set his metal cup of coffee on the railing of the porch and stepped forward. His eyes hadn’t deceived him, and thanks to his enhanced vision since the change at the lab, he knew what he was seeing even from a far distance. A sudden movement could spook the wild horse, so he stepped as swiftly as he could, his boots crunching the frosty grass. All he needed to do was get a bit closer and he could tame the mustang. He just knew he could.
The horse drew in a loud inhale, and whinnied just before drawing its head around to look at Hugo, some ten feet away now. It was a magnificent animal, mostly black with white markings. He’d never seen one with such a beautiful pattern. And the horse was at full maturity at fifteen hands. He also knew by looking at the animal that it was about to run.
Don’t, he said in his mind. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you.
The horse shook its head, making its black and white mane spray out around it. What are you? Hugo heard in his mind. So I can talk to horses as well, Hugo thought. He’d assumed so much, since rodents, birds, and dogs hadn’t been an issue. It was a skill he realized he had as soon as he set up residency on the farm. At first he’d thought it was a mistake, but when in nature, he was often accosted by the communication from the animals. Now it soothed him to converse with them, providing him a companionship he’d never known.
I am a friend, Hugo replied in his head to the wild horse.
What is it that you want? the horse said, its words echoing in Hugo’s mind. He figured that the animal didn’t really speak English, but rather they communicated through feelings or thoughts. He wasn’t sure exactly what this skill of his was or why it had come on after becoming a werewolf. But for a person like Hugo, there was no better gift.
I only want to enjoy your company, Hugo said in his mind to the horse and then he kneeled down on one knee, bowing low to the mustang.
A loud whinny rang out of the beast and Hugo stood at once, shielding his face from the dust it unleashed when it stormed away.
Chapter Fifteen
“Because Middlings soon turned feral after werewolf conversion, the practice of turning the subjects to Dream Travelers was implemented. This kept the men from becoming uncontrollable and stabilized the werewolf conversion.”
- Olento Research, Canis Lupus Project File
The coming back to the world was a slow awakening marked by a fierce hunger. Grant opened his eyes to find they worked; actually they worked better than they ever had before. Details that had eluded his attention were now prominent—the lines on the doctor’s face, the individual strands of his white and gray beard, the intricacy of the wire-rimmed glassed perched on the end of his nose.
“Well, good, you’re finally awake,” Drake said, holding the clipboard of notes. He was always holding notes. Always documenting, which was a strange thing for Grant. “How do you feel?”
Grant made to sit up and realized at once he was restrained. He eyed his pinned wrists with a contempt he’d never felt before. Usually he was even-tempered, calm. However, there was something stirring in him, like a snake that now lived in his stomach was hissing a round of complaints.
“Hungry,” he said, yanking at the restraints. “And a little pissed.”
The doctor raised a bushy eyebrow. “It appears the wolf has taught you a new word. I’ve never heard you use such a profanity,” Drake said, with a laugh in his deep voice.
“Will you release me?” Grant said, scanning the room for Mika. Where was he? It had been Grant’s hope that his boss would be there when he had been fully transformed. He’d done this for him.
“I will, but not yet. First, how is your energy?” Drake said.
“It’s a ten out of ten,” Grant said, knowing the doctor preferred numbers for gauges, rather than adjectives. Grant had always liked that Olento Research dealt in fact. He’d actually liked most things about Olento Research. It was a place where he could belong. Most of the employees, he knew, didn’t have this same affinity, but they also took Mika’s superior reasoning and ambition for granted. One day it would be a world-renowned organization, like Parantaa Research, only better. And he’d be a part of that. He’d be responsible for some of its success.
Drake scratched a note on the clipboard. “Very good. On the back wall is a chart. What’s the smallest letters you can read?”
Grant squinted at the eye chart, the one with a series of rows that grew smaller as they descended. He smiled inside. This was going to be fun, and that wasn’t something he was accustomed to experiencing, but now he was a super human. “CAT NO 5055,” Grant said.
Drake turned to the chart, confusion making his wrinkles deepen. “Where do you see that?”
“At the very bottom, in the right-hand corner,” Grant said.
Drake strode over, getting in close to the chart. “You read this?” he said, pointing not to the last row of letters intended for an eye exam, but rather to the tiny print in the corner the manufacturer stamped on the chart for categorization purposes.
“Yes, that’s right,” Grant said. “Now will you release me?”
“One more question,” Drake said. “How is your focus, what’s going on inside your head right now?”
Focus? What a strange question, Grant thought. However, now that he was thinking about it, there was something stealing part of his ability to concentrate, like a background voice that interrupted his passing thoughts. He honed his attention on the distant voice, trying to determine what the inaudible words were. And then he heard it. The wolf’s voice. Its desires. Its complaints. Its unhealthy urges. Grant shook his head. “My focus is a four out of ten. Is that normal?” he said, hardly able to hear his own voice over the wolf’s in his head. Now that he’d placed his attention on it, the animal had grown louder, taken over.
“You’re a brand new experiment. A super werewolf. We don’t know what normal is until you define it,” Drake said.
“Can you release me now?” Grant said.
Drake let out a cold laugh. “Not as long as I’m in here,” he said and strolled for the door. After he opened it, he pressed a key into a lock in the wall and turned it. The metal restraints unclasped on Grant’s wrists and ankles. Grant rubbed the places where they’d worn his skin just as Drake slipped out of the room, locking it behind him.
Chapter Sixteen
“Within the same twenty-four-hour period, twelve men around the country were abducted. The authorities didn’t link the cases, but when cross-examined, the Lucidites determined that the men, between ages eighteen and thirty, were all disconnected from society in one way or another. None were married or established in their communities.”
- Lucidite Institute, Werewolf Project File
I’ve never fucked up so badly, and I’ve fucked up a lot, Connor thought as he lay in a bed of crumpled sheets.
The act of turning his head was akin to running a marathon for him at this point. Still, he overpowered the drug’s effects and pulled his chin around before flinching. The girl who lay on her stomach next to him had a tattoo of a cobra about to strike taking up most of her back. Unfortunately, he knew that the body of the snake was wrapped around her torso, its tail flicking up and resting just over her left breast. Was this Desiree or Starla? He wasn’t sure which Gottimer twin he’d allowed to pull him into this trailer and seduce him. Honestly, he could have been taken advantage of by a troll at this point. That’s how low he’d sunk. Ever since the
visit from the guy with the teal blue and neon green top hat Connor’s mind had been burdened with doubt. Before, he’d been coasting, allowing the drugs to carry him from one day to another, from one city to the next. But the man’s words now stuck in his head like an arrow. “You could be great, my boy,” the stranger had said.
Connor had never considered the notion that he could be great. That was a reality or a goal for others, but Connor was a coaster. He had always simply drifted, thinking that this life was something that just needed to pass. Killing time was his job, until the end came. But now, the idea that he could be something, that his new gift could make him into something more than a drug-addicted loser, was compelling. And as with all times when opportunity presented itself to Connor, he had sabotaged it. The night after meeting the strange man, Connor had gotten higher than he could remember in the recent past and then found himself in this dirty trailer. Now the girl who he wanted to wash from his body and his mind, lay snoring next to him. The regret couldn’t be washed away. The feeling that he’d done something extremely wrong, betrayed himself by betraying someone else, lived in his being.
Connor rolled off the bed with a thud, his face meeting the slimy shag carpet. He pushed up to his knees, grateful that he could manage such a task. When he thought about it, he didn’t really want to join a circus and be great. However, Connor did want to be something, especially now that the idea had been dangled in front of his face. There was one specific place where he knew his greatness resided, if it was to be found anywhere. But he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t face the pack. He couldn’t face her. With a shaking hand he grabbed the small bag of powder and headed for the door, hitting the wall as he did. There was really only one option left for him, the one he’d been considering for too long. The one that would make everything permanent, and permanently make the pain go away.