Forbidden Instinct

by Cassandra Chandler

  Once he was in the room, his senses were muted. The glare of the lights dimmed, the harsh sounds of Miranda and Jack’s breathing mellowed, and even the anger building inside of Darren seemed to quiet in the space. He let out a sigh, finally realizing how much the world had changed since he was bitten. In the office, he almost felt normal.

  Another bell rang above the door. He knew before checking that it would be silver. He made a note of the other bells. Gold, brass, and several in dark shades that made it hard to tell what they were made of. There was one that might be bamboo and another that was unmistakably bone.

  A round wooden table sat in the center of the room with seven chairs surrounding it. Engravings were carved all over its surface. Darren didn’t recognize any of them. It looked like something he might see in a movie about wizards.

  The rest of the room was even more interesting. Weapons of all descriptions hung on the walls. Axes, maces, swords, crossbows, rifles.

  Then there was the really weird stuff. Boomerangs, staves carved into strange shapes, shields that had obviously seen more than one battle. Half a wall was taken up with wands made of different shades of wood. Some had wicked points, others were rounded or had stones attached to their ends.

  “Next time I go to a Renaissance Festival, I’m stopping by here first,” Miranda said.

  Her eyes were wide as she turned in a circle, taking everything in. Apparently, she wasn’t concerned for Darren’s safety anymore. Which was fair, since Jack wasn’t pointing his gun at either of them.

  Jack headed to a cabinet filled with tiny drawers. It was sitting on top of a counter that held more stacks of iron skillets—the only reminder that they were still in a restaurant.

  He pulled out a few speed loaders and set them on the table, then took another gun from the wall and set it next to them. The speed loaders were filled with shiny bullets that Darren was going to go ahead and assume were silver.

  “Have a seat,” Jack said.

  Darren glanced at Miranda. She nodded, then walked to the table. He pulled out her chair for her, then sat at her side.

  Jack let out another snort, shaking his head. “A werewolf with manners. Now I’ve seen everything.”

  He sat across from them and rested his gun on the table. He didn’t take his hand off the trigger.

  He was staring at Darren. Really staring. There was an unmistakable challenge in Jack’s gaze that made the skin between Darren’s shoulder blades itch.

  The anger started to build again. His knee bobbed under the table as his foot bounced up and down. Miranda reached over and put her hand on his thigh.

  Not even the muting quality of the room could dull the waves of electricity that travelled up his leg from her touch. His dick hardened as he imagined spreading her out on the table and fucking her until she screamed his name. He’d have to slit Jack’s throat first…

  Darren shook his head sharply, pushing the thought away.

  That wasn’t right. That wasn’t what he wanted.

  He focused on what was actually happening. Miranda’s touch was gentle, her hand cool. He took a deep breath and let it out, looking for that razor’s edge again.

  “So, tell me about your night.” Jack leaned back in his chair.

  “You’re the one with all the answers,” Darren said. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  Jack smirked. “My knowledge in this case is broad. I’d like to hear your particular details.”

  Miranda squeezed Darren’s leg. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as his pants became more restrictive. The distraction helped him stop thinking about leaping across the table and sinking his teeth into Jack’s throat.

  “I hit a dog,” Darren said. “I got out of my car to help it and it bit me.”

  “A dog.” Jack shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that. Where were you?”

  “I was driving through the Old River District.”

  “The Rath,” Jack murmured.

  Miranda leaned forward. “Wait, R-A-T-H? As in a fairy Rath?”

  “Pretty much,” Jack said.

  “What’s a Rath?” Darren felt like they were talking in code.

  “It’s a place where fairies live,” she said. “My dad used to tell me stories about them. Raths are like little pockets of Faerie—the place where fairies live. Supposedly, they can be reached through natural landmarks, like a mound of earth or a copse of trees or river bend.”

  “Times have changed,” Jack said. “The fey have had to adapt to modern environments to prey on humans. The Old River District is full of Faerie pockets. That’s why we call it the Rath.”

  Miranda let out a laugh. “You can’t seriously believe this.”

  “Let Darren finish his story.” Jack turned his stony gaze back to Darren. “Then I’ll tell you what I believe.”

  Darren shook his head. “I already told you what I know.”

  “You gave me a half-assed answer.” Jack snorted. “‘Hit a dog’. I need details. Where was the sun in the sky? What did the creature look like? Where did it bite you? Why were you there? And most importantly, how the hell did you get away?”

  “Just lucky, I guess,” Darren said.

  Jack chuckled briefly. “Let me put it to you another way.” He lifted his gun slightly. “This is a foregone conclusion. In my mind, that thing already killed you. I’m just finishing the job. Giving you a merciful end.”

  “Jack, please—” Miranda’s voice crackled. The sugary scent of fear spread from her like a cloud.

  Darren stifled a growl, knowing it wouldn’t help his case any. He had to protect Miranda. Jack was after Darren. Maybe if he played his cards right, he could get her out of this nightmare.

  Jack turned his attention to Miranda. “There’s more at stake than just this one life. If he dies here and now, how many people will be spared in the future?”

  Miranda’s heartbeat skipped, then picked up. Whatever Jack was inferring, it had her terrified. Her pupils dilated and her fingers dug into Darren’s leg. He tried to tell his body that it wasn’t foreplay, but his dick wasn’t listening. He forced his attention to what Jack was saying in an effort to distract himself.

  “There are two types of werewolves,” Jack said. “Those that run in packs and rogues. You get a pack in town, bodies pile up—in corners. They take out drifters, the homeless, or people on the outskirts of town. They find people in places where an animal taking them down and half-eating them is plausible.”

  Jack paused for a moment, probably waiting for what he’d said to sink in. Darren didn’t want it to.

  Werewolves eat people?

  There was no way Darren would become a cannibal. He wouldn’t let it happen.

  “And that’s the best case scenario,” Jack continued. “The ones in packs are more controlled. They clean up after themselves to avoid being caught or cluing humanity in to their existence. You go up against a pack and you’re dead. They never stay in one place too long, so you batten down the hatches and hang wolfsbane over your doors and try not to think about what they’re doing.”

  He looked pointedly at Darren as he went on.

  “Then there are rogues,” Jack said. “Solo wolves. Ones that were turned, but not brought into a pack. Those are the ones you have to watch out for. They can’t control themselves. They kill indiscriminately. They do worse. So I ask you again, Darren. What happened tonight?”

  Darren glanced at Miranda. Her lips were parted, her eyes still wide. Her heart pounded in her chest. He could sense the blood flowing in her veins. He knew her skin would be soft under his touch. Under his claws.

  He couldn’t let himself hurt her or anyone else. But he had to believe there was hope for him. If werewolves could control themselves when they were in packs, maybe…

  What? I could find a pack to run with? Only kill certain people? Only eat certain people?

  No. There had to be another way. Unfortunately, Jack was the only person Darren knew of who might have a
chance of helping him find it. He had to convince Jack that he wasn’t a threat. The best way he knew to do that would be to cooperate.

  “The sun had set maybe twenty minutes before.” Darren took a deep breath and let it out. “The thing that attacked me… It looked like a monster. Like a cross between a wolf and a bear, except it walked on two legs. And it had green eyes.”

  “Green eyes surrounded by white,” Jack said.

  Darren nodded. “It bit me on my left forearm. We were in an abandoned building. I managed to grab a chunk of wood and hit it in the head to get it off of me.”

  “Wood?” Jack’s eyebrows lifted. “You hit a werewolf with a stick and it let you go?”

  “I guess,” Darren said.

  Jack was quiet for a moment. Then he raised his gun, and said, “Bullshit.”

  Miranda leaned sideways and extended her free arm toward Jack as if she could ward off the bullets with her palm.

  She can’t ward off bullets with her hand, can she?

  It had been such a weird night…

  “Stop it,” she said. “Even if Darren is a werewolf—and I’m not saying I believe he is—he’s answering your questions. He’s not threatening you.”

  Jack shook his head. “I know you like him. Hell, I do, too. But he is dangerous. The change is only just starting in him.”

  Jack turned back to Darren, and the look in his eyes was almost pitying.

  “You angry?” Jack asked.

  “You’re holding a gun on me and threatening to kill me,” Darren said. “Yeah, I’m angry.”

  “I’m not talking about that kind of mad.” Jack leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. His voice rumbled through the room. “I’m talking about anger that burns in your bones. Rage flooding through your blood, curling your fists, making you want to do unspeakable things.”

  Darren wanted to look away, to hide the guilt that was no doubt in his eyes. But he couldn’t. Because Jack was right.

  Before being bitten, Darren would have strategized ways of disarming his foe. He wouldn’t have thought about disemboweling Jack and hanging him above the door to his restaurant.

  Remembering the thought made Darren sick to his stomach—and made his skin prickle with anticipation at the same time.

  “Once the full moon gets here, the man we knew will be gone,” Jack said. “It’s on me to stop the thing that you’re becoming. Any way I can.”

  Darren couldn’t deny the urges he was feeling, but he was fighting them off. He wasn’t ready to give up.

  There was something about the room helping him keep those impulses at bay. That meant there had to be ways he could control himself—keep himself from killing.

  The way the conversation was going, Darren wasn’t sure he’d have a chance to find out. Jack didn’t seem eager to let Darren live to see that first full moon. And after what Jack had told them, Darren couldn’t even blame him.

  Chapter Nine

  “Jack, this is Darren you’re talking about,” Miranda said. “You know him. Please, don’t do this. You’re having a delusion—”

  “You’re going to lecture me about delusions? You are telling me that everything in this world can be scientifically explained?” Jack’s gaze bored into her. “I didn’t see that coming.”

  Her stomach seemed to drop through the floor. Did he know about her power? The way he was glaring, and his comment about saving lives in the future made her wonder.

  “I know you’re sweet on him,” Jack said. “But he is dangerous. Even if he manages to keep himself from outright killing you, he could hurt you without meaning to with his new strength. He could turn you. ”

  Darren’s leg started to bounce under the table again. “How is it transmitted?”

  Jack turned his attention back to Darren. “Why?”

  “We kissed,” Darren said. “In front of the restaurant.”

  “I’m aware,” Jack said.

  “Did I…” Darren glanced over at Miranda, then quickly looked away.

  “Relax,” Jack said. “That little make-out session wasn’t enough to turn her. The only way to make someone a werewolf is to bite them—and break their skin—while you’re in your werewolf form. That’s how the curse is transmitted. Not through coughs, or touch, or kissing. It’s not an STD and you can’t get anyone pregnant. Turning makes you sterile. Do you know how we know this, Darren?”

  Darren’s leg went still. He didn’t even seem to be breathing.

  “Rape kits.” Jack paused, his eyes pinching at the corners. When he spoke again, his voice was even lower and rougher than usual. “In their altered form, all werewolves care about is the kill. When they’re human, they have ‘broader interests’. They’re still dangerous—maybe worse, since they can hide among humans. Tell me, Darren. Since you were bitten, have you had any…out of character thoughts about Miranda?”

  “Jack—” Miranda said.

  Darren spoke at the same time. “I would never hurt anyone that way. Anyone.”

  “The man you were wouldn’t. How much longer will you be him?” Jack paused again. “This room is muting your abilities. Helping you hold on to your humanity. You have three nights after this one until the full moon. Nothing will help you then. You will change. And you will kill. There’s only one way to stop it.”

  Jack pulled back the hammer on his gun and gently put it in what Miranda thought was the uncocked position, then turned it around with the handle toward Darren. Reaching across the table, Jack set it down within Darren’s reach. He leaned back and picked up the other gun, using a circular device that held a ring of shiny silver-looking bullets to load the weapon incredibly quickly.

  Darren stared at the gun in front of him. He couldn’t be considering…

  “This is insane.” She turned to Darren and said, “You can’t believe him. This can’t be true.”

  “Tell her the rest,” Jack said. “You got away somehow, and I do not for a moment believe it’s just because you hit the thing on the head with some broken board you found lying around.”

  “It was already hurt,” Darren said. “He was already hurt. I hit him with my car.”

  “A werewolf would shake that off,” Jack said.

  “He was hurt before that,” Darren said. “Someone put silver in him. Not a bullet. A coin.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He seemed to be handling it very carefully. He tossed it in front of Jack. It made a thunk as it hit the table.

  “It happened like I said.” Darren let out a tight breath. “A giant wolf-thing bit me, and I hit him with a piece of shelving. The blow knocked him off of me. Then he…changed. He changed into a man.”

  Darren glanced over at Miranda. His dark brows were lowered over his pale gray eyes. She had never seen him look more serious—not even when he was pulling her from the wreckage of her car. He had looked terrified then. Now he looked…terrifying.

  Is it possible? Are werewolves real?

  She might be able to consider that possibility, but she would never believe that Darren would become the sort of creature that Jack had described.

  Darren looked away from her, as if he couldn’t hold her gaze. He cleared his throat, and said, “When he realized he had bitten me, I think he regretted it. He kept saying he was sorry.”

  Miranda squeezed Darren’s thigh to bring his attention back to her. “Why would he apologize if he was a mindless monster?”

  “He really was sorry.” Darren’s eyebrows drew together as he considered her question. “Seeing that he bit me seemed to wreck him.”

  “Lots of people have regrets when their number is up,” Jack said.

  Darren shook his head. “No, this was different.”

  Hope was seeping back into his expression. Miranda had to help him build on that.

  “Did he say anything else?” she asked.

  “He kept talking about the night,” Darren said. “No, nights. He told me to ‘find the nights’, whatever that means.”

  “M
aybe something about the full moon?” She turned back to Jack. “Werewolves are mostly active at night, right? That’s the way it was in my dad’s stories.”

  Jack winced slightly, but recovered himself quickly. “Werewolves are active whenever they want to be. It’s vampires who can’t move around during the day.”

  “Vampires?” Miranda nearly choked on the word. “Vampires are real too?”

  “They’re not as dangerous as werewolves,” Jack said. “A hell of a lot more common, though.”

  “Do you think we can find some vampires who can help us?” Miranda said. “Is that what the man who bit you meant?”

  “‘Nights’…” Jack lowered his gun a bit, his brow furrowed. For the first time that evening, he seemed uncertain. “Then what?”

  “Then he turned to ash and disintegrated.” Darren pointed toward the handkerchief on the table. “I found that coin in the remains.”

  Jack cocked an eyebrow, then leaned forward and picked it up. He unwrapped it slowly.

  “If werewolves in packs can pick specific targets, that means they can think,” Miranda said. “Darren can find a way to control himself.”

  “Werewolves are driven by rage,” Jack said. “By a hunger for violence.”

  Darren shook his head. “The one who turned me was driven by pain. That coin was burning a hole in his gut. I’ve felt silver now. It’s like touching acid. The poor guy had to be in agony.”

  Jack held up the coin, then turned it over in his fingers. “This looks Grecian.”

  “It is,” Darren said. “It’s from a small city that was destroyed by a natural disaster millennia ago. Until recently, it was on loan to Olympus University from the museum.”

  Jack let out a sigh. “I sometimes wonder if our founders took it a little too far with the naming theme for our fair city.”

  Miranda remembered the conversation Darren had had with his partner, Scott, after the accident. They had spoken about coins.

  “Was this one of the coins you and Scott were transporting?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Darren actually managed a slight smile as he looked at her. “I’m surprised you remember that.”