Olento Research Series Boxed Set: A Paranormal Science Fiction Thriller

by Sarah Noffke

  “Shut up,” Adelaide said, cutting him off. “Let’s move forward on this. As soon as he’s better, you have my permission to perform this experiment on Connor. He’s the test subject I’m offering up and the only one of the werewolves I can afford to lose if things go awry.”

  Adelaide lowered her chin, studying the floor under her feet. They’d lost two werewolves, Orion and Hugo. However, they’d also taken down Wolf X. There was a victory in there somewhere. The biggest success was that Connor and Rio had been saved and returned to the Institute. Maybe she hadn’t worked this case the way other agents would have, especially her father. However, she was making progress. And soon she’d find Mika Lenna and destroy him and Olento Research. But that wasn’t her main goal. Not really. More than anything, Adelaide wanted to give the werewolves their lives back. She wanted to fix them if she could. And if she couldn’t then she wanted to give them a life they could value.

  Epilogue

  Adelaide picked up the crayon that Lucien had apparently left in the middle of the hallway.

  “Pops, do you know where my gray sweater is?” she yelled down the hallway, slipping the crayon in her pocket. A younger Adelaide had spent all day drawing and was quite talented at it. She hoped her son inherited this from her, since she knew he’d battle for all his life with the monster he also inherited from her. Art could be relaxing. Distracting.

  “It’s in your bottom drawer,” Pops said, ducking out of the kitchen area, flour on his face. She wasn’t sure why he was baking since the Institute provided all their meals, but her granddad said it made him feel close to his dead wife when he baked. He often spoke of the bread she made daily and how it filled the house with warmth and wholesome smells.

  “Thank you, Pops,” Adelaide said, eyeing the little boy sitting on the kitchen counter, his fist in a bundle of dough and flour on his cheeks. She wished she was the type of girl who could share in this family experience, baking beside her son and granddad. However, that kind of thing made Adelaide feel lonelier lately. She just needed a bit more time with her pain, her loss. Soon she’d be over Ren and she could repair things with her son… hopefully. That’s what she wanted most.

  “How long will you be gone?” Pops said.

  “I’m not sure. I’ll try to dream travel back regularly, but when I’m here at the Institute, I’ll need to be telling my git team what to do,” Adelaide said, walking for her room.

  “They’re lucky to have you,” Pops sang. He meant it, but she didn’t believe him.

  Adelaide stared at the suitcase. She’d been accepted as a scientist for Parantaa Research. The Institute could forge records for anything, making others think that Adelaide was an Ivy League graduate. Now she could find information from the inside, not as a covert spy, like the pathetic invisible woman. The agents Adelaide had sent to spy during dream travels hadn’t turned up anything at Parantaa because they had to simply observe. From her position, Adelaide could learn a lot about the organization and its sister company, Olento Research. As soon as she started her new position, she’d be that much closer to taking Mika Lenna down.

  Tossing her father’s book to the side of her suitcase, she half smiled at the small object. Of course, she didn’t lose Ren’s book. She’d never let anything happen to it. And it had been returned because she was the true owner. Now she only needed to discover what secrets it held for her. She’d have to stop by the infirmary on her way out of the Institute and let Connor know that she’d found the book. He’d be relieved. It would show itself easily on his face, she thought, seeing the interaction in her mind. Then she’d tell him she was leaving the Institute. How would he react to that? Would he care? And did it really matter?

  Adelaide shook her head, dispelling the thought. She was the presiding agent on the werewolf case, and that’s where her head needed to be. Soon Connor would have the werewolf reversal procedure done and maybe he’d live. Maybe he’d die. Or maybe he’d return to being only a man. Then he’d be safe to be around. Predictable. Well, as predictable as any beautifully flawed man can be.

  The End

  One-Twenty-Six Press.

  Rabid Wolf

  Sarah Noffke

  Copyright © 2017 by Sarah Noffke

  All rights reserved

  Copyeditor: Christine LePorte

  Cover Design: Andrei Bat

  All rights reserved. This was self-published by Sarah Noffke under One-Twenty-Six Press. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. If you are seeking permission send inquiry at http: www.sarahnoffke.com

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Summary: Rabid and hungry for vengeance, one wolf won't stop until he's put to death.

  Published in the United States by One-Twenty-Six Press

  ASIN: B071HY9999

  For Anne, my sister,

  for always being in my corner.

  RABID WOLF

  Prologue

  A cool mist made the air thick. It wasn’t raining, but it was threatening to. Hunter would have to be quick or otherwise someone would spot him. He wouldn’t be able to take his time with this victim, like he’d done before. The woman he’d murdered last week at the assisted living facility had died too fast, making the whole event less than enjoyable. She was so weak and died from the first few assaults. Women were weak, Hunter thought. All of them. That’s why the rabid wolf was taking them out, one by one.

  For a week, Hunter had been stalking the woman he was going to visit tonight. She always ran in her neighborhood at the same hour. It was a pretentious area in west Los Angeles because this woman was a pretentious bitch who only cared about money. Fiona had married some guy with a shiny car. Hunter knew from the beginning that all she cared about was prestige and annual income. Women were only interested in money. All of them.

  She still ran because the slut was obsessed with her body. Never was she satisfied with her firm ass or her flat stomach. Hunter had watched her drink strange concoctions that were supposed to detox or brighten her complexion. Fucking LA women. They were all the same, obsessed with their bodies, looks, and money. Before the whore got married, on their first date, Hunter told Fiona that he wasn’t paying for her salmon, that she had to pay her half of dinner. She smiled, her teeth bright and probably artificially white, and agreed. That date ended early because she got a call from her mother who apparently was ill and needed flu medicine. Women were always getting sick because they were weak, he thought. They got sick and then refused to take care of their responsibility… their children. And women, as the weaker gender, expected other people to take care of them when they were sick. Women were pathetic. All of them.

  Hunter had dismissed Fiona at once, not really caring to stare at her a moment longer. After that they continued to see each other at the gym, where she flirted with other guys and ran for miles on the treadmill. However, they never spoke again because she was a dirty whore who refused to make eye contact with him when they passed at the gym. They’d just had the one date and she rejected him… just like the other women. They didn’t know a good man when they saw one. That’s why Fiona bent over regularly in front of the dumb jocks weight lifting, pretending she’d dropped her towel. But that bitch wasn’t going to be smiling after he was done with her.

  Fiona stopped by a park bench and pulled up her ankle behind her to stretch her leg. In her tight pants her butt was perfectly round. Hunter pressed his claws into the bark of the tree right in front of him, trying to quiet the wolf. It wanted to spring forward and ravage the girl who was now kneeling over, stretching deeper. However, the man in the werewolf wanted another moment to watch her. Hunter could control the wolf because since the beginning he’d given it what it wanted.
Flesh.

  Hunter pictured that the other werewolves he’d been with at the lab probably struggled with the wolf because they tried to tame it. But Hunter had embraced the wolf from the beginning, indulging its every desire. And on nights like this, when he changed and the wolf came out, he was prepared with a victim to offer to the werewolf.

  He narrowed his eyes at the girl who in the dark mist couldn’t see with such detail, but Hunter’s vision was incredible, especially at night. A low growl vibrated his lips where his fangs rested. The werewolf stepped out from beside the tree, crouching down low on the moist grass. It then dragged its claws against the bark of the tree, making a sound that a normal human could hear from several yards away.

  Fiona spun her head around toward the sound, falling back at once from the sight of the brown werewolf perched a lethal distance away. Hunter sprung forward, running on hands and feet, crossing the distance in a fraction of the normal time. A scream ripped from the girl’s mouth just as Hunter launched himself at her chest, knocking her to the ground. Instantly she was whimpering, her hands trying to cover her face. But she was no match for Hunter. She was a woman. She was powerless, like all women.

  Hunter bared his fangs and slid down so his face was close to her chest where he could hear her heart rapidly beating. With his claws he ripped through her running top, taking flesh away as he did. A muffled scream tried to spill out of her mouth, but he’d anticipated this and slapped a hand over it. They always screamed. All the women he’d murdered had cried the entire time.

  Pinning her hands up above her head, he leaned down over Fiona, looking her straight in the eyes. “You didn’t want me and now you’re going to pay. I bet your mother wasn’t even sick, you lying bitch,” he said, his hot breath colliding with her face. A tear peeked from Fiona’s eye just before he released her hands and ran his claws across her pretty little face. And then the werewolf was released to do that which it was born to do. Destroy.

  Chapter One

  “A gentleman is simply a patient wolf.”

  - Lana Turner

  The latch to the bathroom stall caught several times before sliding back, allowing Adelaide to exit the cramped space. She hadn’t really needed to relieve herself, but rather was waiting for the lobby restroom to empty of Parantaa Research employees. Why women had to pee in packs was confounding to Adelaide. And the ones who continued chatting between the stall walls, like everyone peeing wanted to hear their lame-ass stories, were the most infuriating women.

  Adelaide had headed straight to the door marked “Women” as soon as she’d been granted clearance into the research facility. She’d inadvertently shown up ten minutes early for her first day of work, which wasn’t going to set the right tone. Most dimwits probably thought that a spy infiltrating an organization should blend in and go unnoticed. These are the same buffoons who work for a corporation that creates drugs that tie consumers to pharmaceutical companies forever, making them slaves to the drugs they provide. Drugs are rarely ever solutions. They are bandages. The Lucidites knew how to heal, how to actually make people better without putting them in debt for the rest of their lives.

  Adelaide had learned from her father, Ren Lewis, that no one ever suspects someone as a spy who disregards rules. It was annoyingly one reason that Adelaide knew that the FBI bitch, Rox, was actually not a spy. She’d flaunted her disrespect for Adelaide like a trophy, which meant she wasn’t trying to hide a hidden agenda. The kiss-ass was always the most suspicious person. And even subconsciously employers knew this. But if an employee exhibits a great deal of insubordination then that becomes the concern, not the fact that they are spying.

  From a foot away from the porcelain sink, Adelaide took in her image in the mirror. Her father, if he was in heaven, might be looking down at her right then and not completely repulsed by her appearance. The girl, who was raised in the poorest neighborhoods in London, had to admit that she looked sharp in her light blue blazer and pencil skirt.

  Ren wasn’t looking down at Adelaide from heaven or burning in hell though. It was more likely that he was blissfully toiling away his days in the dreamscape as neither alive nor dead. His book, the one in the briefcase by Adelaide’s black heels, had said his death mission was to become someone “in-between.” However, Adelaide had lost her place in the book and hadn’t been able to find that section again, which probably detailed how Ren had done it. The book was as confounding as the man himself.

  “Well, wherever you are, Ren, lend me your strength,” Adelaide said to the image of herself. She looked older somehow, like grown-up clothes actually aged her. That was just an illusion though. Everything in reality was a sort of illusion, and lucky for her she was learning how to manipulate what people saw.

  Adelaide turned for the exit just as the sound of rushing water hit her ears. She paused and turned to the sink, its handle pulled in and water falling from the faucet. Leaning forward, she turned it off, her eyes to the side, like she suspected someone was standing beside her. With a slow grace she revolved in that direction, scanning the empty bathroom. It was nothing. Just a wonky sink. Shaking her head, she headed for the exit.

  “Did you have trouble finding the building?” the woman with short curly hair asked from behind her desk.

  “Nope,” Adelaide said, standing. She’d refused the offer to sit when she was introduced to her new boss, a Dr. Something-Or-Another. Who really cared what her name was?

  “Oh. Well,” the woman said, eyeing the clock on the wall, “you’re fifteen minutes late.”

  “So I am,” Adelaide said, leaning casually against the doorframe. Maybe she shouldn’t have bothered with the suit; that would have been a great show of disrespect and the heels were starting to pinch her pinky toes.

  The woman let out a low breath and then picked up the file on her desk. “It’s good that you have such an impressive resume. I earned my doctorate young, but you put me to shame. You managed to earn a medical degree and a doctorate in neuropsychology.”

  Adelaide yawned loudly. “I don’t sleep,” she said simply. The Lucidites could do anything, including crafting fake records which made Adelaide look like the prized pig Parantaa desperately needed on their research team.

  “Right, well, how about I offer you a tour?” the woman said, standing. She also wore an uncomfortable suit, but hers didn’t fit so well, probably due to the extra weight she’d no doubt acquired since her promotion to Director of the Neuroscience Division. Adelaide knew that the promotion was recent and that the woman had regretted it. And she’d gained all that information when she shook her hand. She also learned that Mika Lenna was on campus that day and the woman was absolutely dreading her meeting with him.

  “I’d really like for you to take me straight to my workstation so I can get set up. I’m not interested in a tour,” Adelaide said. This was another pro tip. A lousy spy would have jumped at the tour, thinking they’d learn something covert. However, not knowing the layout of the large building would give Adelaide the excuse for getting lost repeatedly.

  The pudgy woman scowled a bit before covering the expression with a suitable one. “Right. Of course. This way,” she said, holding out a hand to the empty hallway.

  Adelaide followed the woman out to a corridor that was both too bright and too white. Everything in Parantaa was white. The floors. The walls. The people. It was a stark contrast to the Institute, which was full of color.

  “Your work is going to center around finding—”

  “Susan,” a voice at their backs said.

  Both women turned to find a man in a silver suit standing squarely in the corridor. “I was just coming to see you,” he said, striding forward, a slight accent in his words.

  “Mika, I apologize. I thought our meeting wasn’t until later,” the woman apparently named Susan said.

  “The meeting is when I say it is and I’m available now,” he said. Mika was Finnish, Adelaide remembered from researching him. He’d moved to the United States at age eighteen
and started Parantaa Research the same year.

  So this was the sinister man who had abducted men and mutated them into werewolves and Dream Travelers. Adelaide had a moment where she considered using her mind control to make Mika surrender and cart him off to the Institute. However, that was the messy approach and had too many ways to backfire. Her father had once infiltrated a government so that he could create lasting change from within, weeding out all of the problems. That was the smart approach. The long-standing one. Furthermore, it was a fool’s approach to underestimate this man. She was on his territory and knew nothing about him and his Dream Traveler skill.

  “Of course,” Susan said, bowing slightly. “I can meet with you now. Let me just take our new employee to her workstation.”

  “Yes, Abigail Post,” Mika said, facing Adelaide. “Your resume suggests you might be of use to Parantaa’s research team.”

  “I assure you I’ll keep this bloody place afloat if given a chance.” Adelaide extended a hand to him. “And you are with the maintenance crew, I presume.”

  Mika eyed her hand, his dark green eyes narrowing on it. The man wore a pencil mustache and a goatee etched into a triangle. He also wore a diabolical expression on his face, like he knew more than most and could use it to destroy innocent people and animals. She’d seen what he’d had done to several packs of wolves, slaughtering them for their blood. Kill people if you must, but leave animals out of it.

  “Abigail, this is—”

  Mika held up his hand, stopping Susan, who looked utterly mortified. “I think I can introduce myself,” he said to her. “I’m Mika Lenna. I’m the founder and CEO of Parantaa Research. I don’t look at all like a maintenance worker. I don’t appreciate your attempts at insubordination. And I don’t shake hands,” he said, his words attempting to cut.