Fire Of Love

by Preston Walker

  Isaac drew to a halt, claws skittering on concrete. Moody stopped too, feeling a light ache deep in his muscles that quickly faded away. Wolves were meant for endurance, not speed, but their trip so far was nothing more than a jog to him.

  Not to Isaac, though. The alpha pulled in a few ragged, panting gulps of air, then pushed onward.

  This time, Moody followed closer, right at Isaac’s flank. They had most of the night left still, and he didn’t plan to let any time slip by unused. Isaac running himself ragged would take longer to recover than if he simply allowed himself a break or two.

  And now that he’d thought about it, Moody was very, very aware of the seconds ticking by as they ran. Their last chance, their means to escape, growing smaller and smaller. The window would fall shut at dawn and he hoped to be on the other side when that happened.

  They ran on, crossing a street at one point. They took the crosswalk without waiting for the light to change, since no cars were coming. In fact, Moody couldn’t hear any cars at all. Aside from a dog barking faintly in the distance, and the scuttering of a rat in the dumpster along the wall of the alleyway, there were no signs of life anywhere. They could have been the last two people on earth, isolated as they were by the hour.

  Isolated, and free.

  For the first time, Moody thought he could understand how the members of Lethal Freedom were feeling. Their pack had been all about a lack of rules and living as they wished, running and riding free with no loyalties but to their own. Now, they were robbed of all that, tied down to a fucking parking garage that wasn’t even near where most of them lived.

  How things change.

  Eventually, Isaac stopped again. He lowered his head and let out a little growl of warning, which might have irritated Moody up until a day ago. Now, he looked past the act of the growling and to the meaning behind the sound: be careful.

  Coming up to stand at the alpha’s side, Moody peered out of the shadows of the alleyway. Not much to see, just city streets and low buildings, the same as everywhere else in this place. Then, he realized what buildings he was looking at.

  Apartments.

  Moody whined, a soft question which reached no further than a few feet away. A human standing on the sidewalk wouldn’t have even been able to hear him, despite the pervasive quiet.

  Lowering his head, Isaac nodded. He fluffed out his fur, brushing his pelt against Moody’s. Their tails touched, entwined, before pulling apart again. This was the place. Arlo used to live in one of these buildings. With any luck, he still would.

  Lifting up his nose, Moody scented the air. Concrete and metal, dampness, the thick and offensive reek of exhaust and gasoline, and a confusing brew of human scents. If Arlo had come this way recently, he couldn’t tell.

  Isaac watched him, ears pricked forward with curiosity. As strong as his senses were, an omega’s skills would always be sharper than an alpha’s.

  Moody shook his head, snorted softly.

  Isaac nodded again, brushed his tail along Moody’s flank in a gesture of thanks. Then, he shifted back into human form, crouched in the shadows.

  Moody followed suit, automatically placing one hand on Isaac’s shoulder. This natural act of touching would have astonished and offended him not very long ago, yet right now it seemed like the most ordinary thing in the world. Of course he would touch Isaac, and of course Isaac would wrap a warm arm around his waist in response. There was no reason not to.

  “Which building is it?” he asked, voice hushed.

  “That one.” Isaac pointed toward an apartment building on the opposite corner of the street. His pupils were dilated, his nostrils flaring. Though human, he somehow managed to still look like a wolf.

  Tightening his grip on Isaac to remind him to stay under control, Moody looked over at the building pointed out to him. Here was the only thing that, to him, seemed to be better than in Pensacola. Even though these apartments were deep in the middle of the city, they were adjacent to a line of healthy, thriving trees, surrounded by shrubbery that looked like it would have been right at home on the White House lawn. Everything in Florida always seemed so swampy; here, less than an hour away, the plants were picture-perfect and benign.

  The apartments themselves weren’t flat, featureless structures. Instead, they resembled long, shallow houses stacked on top of each other. Decorative eaves arched from the main structure of the roof, draped over windows and doorways.

  “Wow.”

  “Nice, right?” Isaac agreed. “And this is just the low-end neighborhood. You should see the fancier sections, near the parts of the bay that don’t look like shit.”

  Moody smiled a little. “You can show me those if we make it out of this in one piece.”

  “Deal.” Isaac smiled back at him, making him feel very warm inside. “As far as I can remember, Arlo lives on the top floor. Hell if I know the number, but I remember the location because you almost can’t find the damn door. It’s tucked around a corner. Pretty small place. He gets it cheap.”

  “So, we just go up and knock. And if he answers?”

  “You should be the one to knock,” Isaac suggested. “He’ll take a moment to recognize you. Jump him. Cover his mouth. Knock him out. Just don’t let him shift or make too much noise.”

  Moody nodded, feeling appreciative of Isaac’s forethought. Doing this on his own would have been terrifying, to the point where he didn’t think he would have been able to do it at all. Having Isaac’s presence at his side, offering plans, providing support for this endeavor, gave him enough bravery to keep going. “And then we tie him up, go through his place to see if we can find anything incriminating.”

  “Or, maybe he’ll confess when he sees us,” Isaac offered.

  “Oh, sure. He’s going to have such a big change of heart while knocked out and tied up. Probably gagged, too. That always inspired me to get talking.”

  Isaac gave him a playful squeeze. “I guess you’re right. We’ll have to gag him if he tries to make noise. We don’t want him making anyone call the cops. We’re clear on the plan, then?”

  “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

  They stood up together, emerging from the alley and crossing the street at an angle. If there had been a cop nearby needing something to do, they surely would have been reprimanded for jaywalking.

  Moody grew more tense the closer they got to the building, his heart starting to skitter in his chest. The panic was nowhere near as bad as it would have been if he was on his own, however. That didn’t change. Each time he felt like he might be about to crack, to descend deeper into fear, he only had to sidle closer to Isaac so their hands could brush together as they walked. Confidence surged through him with each contact, buoying him up above the dark waters so no slimy creatures could needle him with their fangs.

  They crossed up onto the sidewalk. Isaac sped up, grabbing the door to hold it open. Moody stuck his tongue out at the alpha as he entered the building, even though he felt flattered on the inside. It was a light, bouncy feeling, flattery was. He didn’t know that he’d ever felt anything like it before.

  As Moody stepped inside the lobby, he caught a faint whiff of something that he hadn’t been expecting: chlorine.

  “They have a pool here?”

  “Out back,” Isaac confirmed, stepping away from the door and letting it shut behind him.

  The lobby was fairly regular, which was almost disappointing when taking into consideration the presentation of the exterior walls. An elevator was conspicuously absent, though Moody didn’t necessarily think one was needed when there were only three floors to climb. A staircase was off to the left, while the distinctive whirring sound of washing machines came from a doorway to the right. There were several dozen mail slots along the wall near the front desk, behind which sat a doorman who clearly had better things to do than pay attention to the unfamiliar men entering his building. Leaning way back in his chair, he had his feet kicked up on the desk. His face was buried in a home décor magazine.


  Trying to act natural, and probably failing Moody supposed, they shouldn’t linger in the doorway, and instead headed right for the stairs.

  Just as Isaac got his foot on the bottom step, a gruff voice said, “Can I help you two?”

  Moody winced, then turned around and tried to look innocent. He should have expected this, he supposed. Both of them looked a little worse for wear. Torn clothes, messy hair, scratches and sore patches devoid of hair.

  Luckily, the man at the desk didn’t look as if he was the smartest person in the entire world. His face was round, his eyes beady, and his lips crumpled inward in a perpetual sneer. A pug of a man, essentially. The magazine he’d set down on the desk was not one magazine but two, the hidden, inner edition bearing pictures of women being penetrated in pretty much every orifice.

  How nice.

  He might not be an expert on straight sex, but he didn’t think they were doing it right. At least the participants all seemed to be having fun.

  Isaac squared his shoulders and stood up straighter, the subtlest of motions that signaled he was gearing up for dominance. Moody felt yet another stirring of warmth and desire deep inside his loins. He was beginning to think they would have to have sex when all of this was over with, if just to relieve some pressure and feel closer to one another.

  “We don’t need help, thanks,” Isaac said. He wasn’t quite growling, but his voice was very deep and rough. He sounded very much like someone who didn’t want to be messed with. Already, the pug-faced man looked as if he might be reconsidering his challenge. “We’re just visiting a friend.”

  “Uh-huh,” the man said. “Sure you are.” He sounded uncertain, his eyes flicking this way and that. “Never seen you around before. Who’s your friend?”

  “Arlo,” Moody said, jumping in. His hope was that if he also seemed knowledgeable, the man would be more willing to drop the subject.

  An instant later, he realized how wrong he was. The man looked at him, his beady eyes narrowing so they seemed to disappear in the fleshy folds of his face. His jowls scrunched up, like testicles receding from the cold. “Arlo who?”

  Moody wasn’t dominant. He didn’t have the intimidation factor that Isaac did, so this pug man wasn’t afraid of him. Now all the focus was on him, and he didn’t know the answer to the question. If he hesitated, even this dumb man would realize something was wrong.

  Isaac stepped forward, subtly placing himself between Moody and the other man. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring down his nose with contempt. Moody couldn’t see his expression, but he could see the other man wilting under Isaac’s gaze.

  “Fuck off, man. Are you serious? There’s only one Arlo. There’s no way you have no idea what I’m talking about. Why don’t you just shut up and get back to jerking it? Or do you want me to mention this to your boss?”

  The man reached out, picked up his two magazines, and held them up in front of his face. “I’m not bothering anyone. Didn’t see a damn thing, didn’t talk to anyone.”

  Isaac turned around and started up the stairs. Moody followed along, trying to hold back his laughter. Judging from the way the muscles in Isaac’s back trembled, he was dealing with the same problem.

  They quickly climbed up to the third floor. Their laughter died, the air between them becoming much more serious. This was the part that mattered most. They couldn’t mess this up.

  They emerged from the landing and stood out in the hallway. Isaac looked around for a moment, then headed off down the hall. Near the very end, the hall took an abrupt turn. There didn’t seem to be any purpose at all for this turn. Moody could only imagine there were pipes or something that necessitated the wall being built around it. And on the other side of the turn was a single apartment door. The number didn’t matter, Isaac had been right about that. Only the location.

  Hanging back now, Isaac gestured for Moody to go ahead of him.

  Moody took a deep breath, steeling himself. This was it. He reached out, grasped Isaac’s hand for a moment, and went over to the door to knock. He rapped his knuckles against the wood, felt the surface jostle loosely under his touch. If they needed to, he supposed they could very easily break it down.

  But they weren’t going to need to, because a sharp cry of surprise could be heard coming from deep within the apartment. Arlo’s warbling voice, uncertain even in a moment when he shouldn’t have had time to overthink about anything. Every sound that followed was crisp and clear, brushstrokes painting an imagine in Moody’s mind. Shuffling and creaking as Arlo rose from his perch, an ancient piece of furniture with bad springs. A thud, a muffled grunt, a rustling sound as he ran into something and subsequently grabbed at the painful spot. A swear, then a series of stumbling footsteps that came to an end right on the other side of the door.

  A spasm of panic jabbed Moody in the heart. Black spots streaked across his vision like a meteor shower.

  Is there a peephole? Is there a fucking peephole? Can he see us?

  He didn’t have time to look, might not have been capable of seeing properly anyway, what with the black stars cascading down right in front of his face.

  Everything was too acute, too sharp, too accurate. He felt as if he had ceased to be a man and had instead become the things he was feeling and hearing. He was the pounding of his heart, the scent of fear and cheap deodorant, the clunking of a faulty lock.

  And then the door opened. Arlo stood there, one hand still grasping the knob. His face blanched white as paper.

  Everything crashed in on Moody all at once and he didn’t know what to do, so he did the only thing he could do and swung out a fist. His arm blurred through the air, faster than he even knew he could move, and then his knuckled collided with Arlo’s jaw.

  Arlo crumpled to the ground, eyes rolling back in his head to reveal a brief flash of the whites.

  Moody lurched inside the apartment, looking around rapidly. Despite the small size, the apartment really was very standard. A cozy little living room and conjoined kitchen, a nub of a hallway connecting a bathroom and a bedroom. Someone had an ongoing chess match set up on the coffee table, right next to a few cans of Monster Energy Drink. Dishes brimmed over the top of the sink in the kitchen, a few fruit flies gliding lazily back and forth between them and the treasure trove of Chinese food containers that was the trashcan.

  Video game posters took up much of the wall space, along with some decent pieces of artwork depicting scenes from typical nerdy movies. Star Wars, Star Trek, and so on. What available space remained was occupied by figurines and various memorabilia from so many different franchises that Arlo’s affection for visual media could almost be followed like a timeline.

  Moody hated to give labels to people, but he was strangely gratified to have this evidence to support his theory that Arlo was a geek. His oddness would earn him attention and condescending affection from the rest of his pack; when they were gone, he would turn to these worlds where he could pretend to be everything he was not.

  Taking another few steps into the apartment, Moody finally spied what he’d been looking for: a phone charger, plugged into the wall. Snatching the cord in his hand, he turned and brought it over to Arlo. “Hold his wrists together,” he said.

  Isaac knelt down and picked up Arlo’s arms by the wrist. The unconscious wolf’s fingers flopped limply this way and that, though the fluttering of his eyes indicated he was already on the way to regaining consciousness.

  As best as he could, Moody tied Arlo’s hands together with the phone charger. Contrary to popular belief, such cords are designed not to tangle. Their flexibility could only be stretched so far. Stepping back, Moody inspected his handiwork. “It’ll do. It’s nothing compared to what they did to us, though.”

  “He won’t be able to soak his way out of it, though,” Isaac growled. “I locked the door. He’ll have a hard time escaping without using his fingers.”

  “Should we gag him? I’m sure there has to be a washcloth in the kitchen or something.”
>
  Arlo stirred around, groaning quietly. His eyes still didn’t open, though his fingers tried to curl and couldn’t because of the phone cord holding them in place. His movements really made Moody feel on edge, like they should go ahead and take every precaution they could.

  At the same time, it just didn’t seem right.

  Shaking his head, Moody said, “We leave him the way he is. If he starts yelling or something, then we do it. If not, we just leave him be.”

  “Do we at least move him away from the door?”

  Moody bit his lip, considering for a moment. Then, he shook his head again. “No. It’s not like we’re trying to kidnap him or anything. Just leave him where he is. Look in the cupboards, the drawers, under the couch. See if he’s got his phone on him and if you can get into it. I’ll scope out his bedroom.”

  Isaac nodded, then reached out and held his hand for a second before letting it drop. “Alright. Let’s do this. Get this show on the fucking road, huh?”

  Moody smiled a little. He squeezed his hand, feeling the pressure of his nails against his palm, relishing the fading tingles of contact from where Isaac touched him. Turning around he went down the short hallway and ducked into Arlo’s bedroom.

  He flipped on the light and looked around.

  As always, whenever he was in someone else’s house, he felt an extreme sense of displacement. He didn’t belong here, shouldn’t have been here, standing on this person’s turf, invading their private sanctuary. Things seemed more breakable, more valuable. Moving anything seemed like a breach of contract. Touching the things which weren’t his brought a sense of vague guilt, like he had done something he shouldn’t have.

  It didn’t matter that he was looking for incriminating evidence. He shouldn’t be here.

  He was looking at the place where Arlo slept, where he felt safest, where he went to hide from the world that would judge him for being himself.

  Arlo’s bed was right in front of him. There were gaps beneath, and he could see product boxes tucked away in there, the kind a person takes from a store when they’re in the process of moving. Arlo must have kept them around as cheap storage.