There was a faint, lingering scent of Rose and he turned his head. The cabin was dark inside, empty. He narrowed his eyes, using his extremely keen night vision to scope things out further. Still clutching the bottle, he stepped into the broken pane and crossed the threshold into the house.
There was a stronger scent surrounding him, the scent of a male. Jason. Simon growled low in his throat at the scent. He walked on, stepping into the kitchen. Nothing. They were gone.
He had hoped Jason would be here, unaware. He would love to get his hands on him. And Rose, he had wanted her here too, to watch him rightfully take his place as alpha.
Alpha, Simon thought, as he looked around the room slowly. He gave a soft chuckle. Pack leader. That’s what I will be. They have a pack now. He thought about it a bit more.
The kitchen was tidy, but not clean. Dirty dishes filled the bottom of the sink. He stared at it, at the residue of food crusting along the plates. Some glasses and plates rested on the kitchen table, as if waiting for dinner to start.
Jason’s scent was all around him. He had just been here. Simon estimated they had missed each other by a half hour at the most. So close and yet so far.
He took a deep, slow breath, squeezing his fist around the glass of the Jack Daniel’s bottle. It shattered under the pressure, sending shards of it everywhere. He caught the scent of his own blood and looked down. Jagged pieces of the glass sliced open his palm and the blood began to pool black in the partial moonlight.
Rage washed through him and he clenched his fist. The blood seeped through his fingers, dripping to the floor. The pain was horrible, but he ignored it. He had come all this way and they weren’t here.
His boot crashed into a wooden chair, sending it flying across the room. It broke apart. He tore through the house as if he could find them there. He upset the kitchen table, breaking the dishes and glasses. He swept his arms across the counter and ceramic spice holders spilled. Flour and sugar covered the floor like a strange snowfall. He did as much damage as he could before stomping out of the room.
His vicious assault did not end there and he began to take his anger out further on the living room. His fingernails became deadly claws and he sawed open the couch cushions. Cotton stuffing flew in the air around him. He kicked over the television, shattering it. Porcelain knickknacks, so lovingly placed on the entertainment center, crackled into dust as Simon crushed them underfoot. Photographs of the smiling married couple were soon shattered and destroyed.
When he finished, the room looked as if some indoor tornado had swept through. He panted as he admired his handiwork. It was a good message, a nice calling card, but it wasn’t severe enough. Grinning, he undid the button of his fly and unzipped. He urinated on the couch cushions.
He wanted to be there when they got back. He wanted to see the look of horror on their faces when they stepped in and saw the mess. He wanted to see the recognition when they caught the territorial scent. He knew better though. He would have to run again, wait for another time.
He finished marking the room and zipped up. The ammonia scent of the piss was very strong, assailing his nostrils. He hated to leave here, and for a brief moment Simon considered staying. He could hide in the shadows and wait for them to return. It would be a shock. This time, he wouldn’t run. He would finish what he started.
Simon had almost convinced himself when the telephone rang. He froze where he stood, listening to the shrill sound chirp through the house. On impulse, he turned, staring at the overturned phone. It was pulled out from the wall, useless and shattered. No, it wasn’t this phone. It came from another room.
It rang again, a third time, before he finally snapped into action. He walked down the hall, toward the noise. He pushed open the door, revealing a modest bedroom. The phone rang twice more, then there was a familiar click and the answering machine began. Rose’s cheerful voice echoed.
“Hi, you’ve reached the residence of Jason and Rose Barnett. We’re not home at the moment, or unable to answer your call, so please leave your name, phone number and a message, and we’ll get back to you.” Then came the inevitable beep followed by brief silence.
Why he was still here, listening, he didn’t know. He was just about to turn away when the speaker finally began to talk.
“Jason,” Rose began. Her voice sounded much different than the recording, less cheerful. “I’m sorry.” There was a long pause. Simon held his breath, waiting for her to continue.
“I’m sorry I ran out on you like that, but I needed time to think. I’ve done a lot of that. I think we should talk now, about a lot of things. I’m at the PRDI safe house, with Claire. Stop by if you can, or just call me.” Again, she stopped and made a sound like a sob. “Please don’t be out doing something you’ll regret. Please call me.”
The machine clicked as the recording ended and Rose hung up. Simon stared at the blinking red light on the machine for a very long time. This is certainly an interesting change in events, he thought, a grin slowly spreading across his face. Rose was at the PRDI safe house.
He knew where she was now. And Claire. The thought of finally finding Claire and dealing out some of his own justice made him excited, but the thought of having Rose again did so even more. All thoughts of staying and catching the couple by surprise faded. He knew what he had to do and he was all to ready for it. He left the cabin in its state of disarray and set out through the meadow once again. With luck, he could get there before dawn.
* * *
Once she hung up the phone, Rose felt sick. Her stomach was knotted with cramps of anxiety and worry and she hurried to the bathroom. She vomited once, throwing up what little supper she had eaten earlier. She rested there, between the sink and the toilet, her head resting against the cold porcelain.
She had tried to sleep, but it wouldn’t come to her as easily as it once had. She became restless, tossing and turning until her sheets became a tangled mess around her. When she did get to sleep, what few hours she had, she woke up on the floor, near the door and she was suddenly afraid. Her bouts with sleepwalking had ceased three years ago but she was clearly relapsing.
I can’t let any of this happen again, she thought, I can’t let this fear come back.
So she called home. There was no answer and she let the machine pick up, feeling foolish to even be doing that. But now that the message was there, Jason might call her back, or might show up. He might hurt her. He might still be angry.
She returned to the phone and rested her hand on the receiver, waiting for it to ring. A few minutes passed and she realized it was useless to will him to call. She finally moved her hand, realizing how sweaty it was. She wiped the hand on the leg of her jeans and then wiped down the phone with a tissue from the bedside table.
She slipped away from the phone and lay back in the bed. The blankets were still warm from where she slept and she curled into them. Faint moonlight fell in through the blinds and she stared at the window. Wind blew, rustling the tops of the trees. She watched them for as long as she could. Her eyes grew heavy and she could barely hold them open for long.
I have to stay awake, she told herself. Jason might call. He might show up.
Even as she said these things to herself, sleep began to overtake her. She gave in, reluctantly, turning once to face the phone. She threw her arm out, hand enclosing over the phone’s receiver, waiting for it to ring, but knowing it never would.
Chapter Nineteen
Just as Claire had expected, sleep never came. A half hour’s worth of tossing and turning had been enough. She climbed out of bed and returned to her office down the hall. She sat in the semi-darkness, staring at the computer screen and, occasionally, the monitors.
Her mind was too active. She kept thinking about Rose and what Simon had done. She kept thinking about Jason and his psychically inclined intuition and his anger. Would he find out Rose was here? Would he show up, angry and resilient? She hoped not.
But most of all, she thought about Davis.
She missed him, surprised at how much that had increased since their last coupling. She was also surprised at how happy she could be in the midst of all the trouble going on. They were going to make it work this time. They were going to be a couple.
Claire felt suddenly happy and she giggled to herself, wrapping her fleece blanket tighter around herself. She sipped on a mug of hot chocolate as she surfed the Web, trying to find something to keep her occupied until sleep finally grabbed its hold on her. She knew she should be taking this time to work, to research, but now that Rose was safe, she no longer felt such an urgent need to do so.
She glanced over, eyeing the stack of folders Glen had dropped off. She hadn’t even had the chance to really go through them. She blinked a few times. Curiosity soon got the better of her. She flipped on the desk lamp and diverted her attention toward the stack.
She grabbed the top one and opened it.
Joshua Conner, she read. Wonder what kind of messed up guy he was.
As she read through the file, she discovered there was nothing abnormal about him, not in the sense he was evil. He was a werewolf, a full-blood. He had a wife, Simon’s mother, who was also full-blood.
Claire shuffled the papers and an envelope slipped from between the sheets. She grabbed it before it hit the floor. Simon’s name was scrawled on the front. It was still sealed. Slowly, she opened it, being careful not to rip the contents. There were two folded pieces of yellow paper inside. Carefully, she removed them and unfolded them, smoothing out the wrinkles. The edges were torn, as if hastily pulled from a ledger. It was a long letter, printed on both sides of both sheets. The handwriting was small and cramped. She squinted to decipher it.
“The information in this file is complete, thanks to the good researchers of the PRDI, but there is one thing that has been left out, one thing I would very much like to include for a day when it seems fitting. I write this for my son, Simon, who is now only a teenager, because I cannot say it to him in person, not yet.
“Simon, do not think of me as a weak man. I do only what I can to provide for you and your mother, but it is not always enough. I have never been a perfect father, but I try. I made mistakes before and I only wish for redemption. You will soon know why I try so hard.
“I do not wish to go into very much detail, but I cannot delay this admission much longer. A few years before I met your mother, I was in love with a young woman named Amelia Barnett. She was a beginning instructor at the PRDI and a very brilliant and talented woman. She was psychic, given to visions and premonitions of the future and the present.
“We dated on and off again, never fully committing to a long term relationship. However, she soon found herself pregnant and we were overwhelmed. Neither of us was ready to have the child, but I was elated, for a while.
“Fate had something else in store for us. We were both happy, but it was soon gone. Amelia went mad. A vision of the future, something I still to this day do not comprehend, rattled her entire body. She lost her mind. She went insane.
“The PRDI could not keep her on and she was reluctantly sent to a mental hospital, where she stayed during the duration of her pregnancy. I never got to see the child born.
“Hunters began a campaign on the PRDI, and we soon became targets of a religious and political faction bent on destroying all that we had achieved. It was short lived, but many of us went into hiding. I was among them.
“I regret it to this day, Simon, that I did not return to Amelia. The child was sent away, to be raised in a foster home. Amelia died in the institution shortly after. I should’ve done the right thing. I should’ve taken the child and raised him, taken care of him. He was my son.
“It has taken me all these years to finally track him down. He is seventeen, two years older than you are now. I have not met him yet, but I have arranged to do so very soon. His name is Jason Barnett. I am nervous. I am sure he hates me. I did so wrong with him, abandoning him as I did. I did not want to do it, but circumstances were against us. I had no choice.
“I hope you see why I do what I do, why I protect you and try my hardest to be a good father. I messed up once before. I don’t want to do it again.
“I hope one day you will understand me, Simon, and forgive your old man for the mistakes he made.”
Claire stared at the paper, disbelieving. She read over it again. She had to be sure. The names couldn’t be right. Her eyes scanned quickly over the messy writing until she found it again.
Jason Barnett.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
Joshua Conner was Jason’s father. Simon and Jason were brothers—half-brothers.
She couldn’t believe it. She stared at the papers. Her hands began to shake and she put the papers aside. She was shocked.
Neither of them know, she told herself. The envelope was unopened. Simon has never read it. Jason never knew his parents. This can’t be true.
Her thoughts became a frantic jumble. She had to tell someone. She had to let them know.
Quickly, she turned, upsetting her mug of hot chocolate with a quick swipe of her arm. The hot contents spilled over the computer desk. Papers soaked up the mess, but the letter was unharmed.
Frantically, she bent to clean up the mess before it sank into the carpet, turning her back to the security monitors.
* * *
He stood across the street from the PRDI. He blended into the shadows well, but that was one of the advantages of being a dark black wolf. He flexed his paws on the pavement, tongue lolling from his jaws. He hadn’t been able to contain the wolf after arriving here. He let him loose. What was left of his clothes lay in a pile somewhere in a concealed, partially wooded area.
But he was here. There was a single light on in the fancy brick house that served as the safe haven. He watched the upstairs window for a long time, waiting for someone to move, but no one did.
He crossed the darkened, pre-dawn street and through the wet, dewy lawn leading to the house. It was different, he had to note. Even in his wolf form he could tell it. He could smell it, sense it somehow.
Before him loomed something concrete or granite, he couldn’t tell. It was a stone of some sort, similar to a headstone on a grave. As he neared, he realized it was more than one. It was like a small cemetery. The light shone on the monuments eerily. He slipped between them, stealthily.
He could already smell her. She was here, her scent lingering close to the door.
There would be a problem getting in. He would have to become human. Break down the door or something. A mechanical whirring whined loudly to his overly sensitive ears. He growled and lifted his head.
A camera moved steadily above him. He turned his attention away, eyes searching the darkness and shadows. He saw more cameras, moving slowly, positioned all over the yard.
He didn’t realize it yet, but it meant they would see him. Somewhere, these cameras were monitoring the outside. They would see him on it.
Just as his wolfen mind realized that, there came a sharp buzzing. It startled him and he spun quickly, facing the door. There it came again, loudly.
Then the door opened a fraction of an inch.
The wolf slipped into the house, not pausing to wonder why. His opportunity had arrived. He crossed the threshold and the door shut behind him. Once there, he let the shift take over and he became human once again. Standing there naked, he sniffed the air. He could smell Rose, but also something else. It was another female, a human. And she was just up the stairs and down the hall.
He realized he knew this scent and without a moment's hesitation, he began to climb the stairs, heading toward her.
* * *
Seeing the wolf on the monitor had startled her. She was used to seeing the others from a distance, never as close up as the wolf had been on the screen. The wolf seemed familiar and she stared blankly at the screen a long moment before she realized it was Glen. He was the only black wolf she knew of.
Why is he here? Claire thought. She still felt frantic from h
er discovery only a few moments earlier. She had set the letter aside, cleaned up her mess of spilled chocolate. She was now in front of the computer once again, typing away. She couldn’t tell anyone about it, not just yet, she realized. She would have to do it delicately. Jason would snap, she knew. She didn’t want that directed at her. So, she had begun typing it in her private computer journal.
The words flashed at her: Simon and Jason are brothers. They share the same father, Joshua Conner. It’s all written in black and white in the letter.
She turned away from it and looked back to the monitor. The wolf was no longer on the screen. She had buzzed him in. Glen wouldn’t show up in his wolf form unless something was wrong. She allowed him instant admittance. He was probably searching for clothing to wear now.
She took a deep breath and decided she would greet him shortly. She could tell him about it. Glen wouldn’t take it out on her. He would understand, somehow; he always did.
The shock of it had still been too much. She felt shaken, terrified. She turned back to the computer, poised her fingers over the keys, ready to type her next sentence.
The door creaked softly behind her, but she didn’t turn right away. Not until she heard a dark, cold chuckle and a familiar male voice speak up.
“Hello, Claire.”
She turned around quickly and was then frozen. Simon stood in the doorway to her office. He was naked. His eyes were feral, animalistic and yellow. His teeth looked longer, deadlier.
With a sudden realization, she knew he had been the black wolf. She had made a terrible mistake.
She stood. He blocked the door with the bulk of his body. She couldn’t run. She was trapped.
“I think you and I need to have a little talk,” he said, darkly.
And then he lunged toward her, shifting in mid-air. His features became horrible twisted and grotesque. The black werewolf tackled her.
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