When they finally slid to a stop, he lifted his head. “Are you all—”
She shoved her gun into his face. “Get the hell off me!”
“Faith, dammit…” Jim snatched the weapon out of her hand before she could fire. “What the—Shit!” Glimpsing light flaring out of the corner of his eye, he threw himself over her again.
Another spell sizzled through his fur. Though most magic rolled off his kind, this one had so much voltage, even he hissed at the burn.
Huddled in the protection of his arms, Faith yelped at the stinging nimbus.
“Hurts, huh? It would have killed you if it had hit dead on.” Jim snatched her into his arms and rolled to his feet, still clutching the gun in one hand. “I’m trying to save your ass here. Work with me!”
That seemed to get through to her. “Who are you?”
“I’m—” Hearing a growl, Jim spotted the rogue charging toward him. He ducked aside, swearing as the Dire Wolf’s claws raked across his shoulder.
But as he inhaled at the pain, Jim smelled the blood flowing from the bite on Faith’s arm. The familiar copper tang was tinged with a scent that was all too familiar.
Werewolf magic.
Jim’s heart sank. The bastard hadn’t just bitten Faith. He’d infected her with Merlin’s Curse.
Which meant Jim had just run out of time. Though he badly wanted to continue the fight, he had to get Faith to saftey. The last thing she needed was to become a Dire Wolf in the middle of a battle. Disoriented, shocked, she’d be easy pickings—assuming she even survived her first transformation.
“Watch it!” Faith yelled in his ear.
Glancing around, he saw the vampire about to launch another blast. Jim ducked. The flying energy ball splashed into a tree trunk, sending splinters flying.
Out of time, out of options, he ran for his life, Faith cradled against his chest.
“Stop!” she gasped as they plunged over brush and around trees. “Let me go, dammit! Where the hell are you taking me?”
“As far away from here as possible,” he said grimly.
He figured he had an hour at most before Faith either became a Dire Wolf…
…or died, burning in a blaze of magic her body could not control.
Muscles jerking in spasms from a near brush with a death spell, Celestine Gentry watched the enemy werewolf race off with the cop in his arms.
Bloody hell. She wasn’t up to chasing them, not with her nervous system half fried from the vampires’ magical blasts. Besides, she needed to sacrifice the last remaining son of a bitch before he had time to die. If she was going to drink his power, she had to do it now. And she needed that magic to heal her injuries. The others had died too quickly to do her any good.
Licking her lips, Celestine knelt at the vampire’s side with the ceremonial dagger in her hand. Like her, he was one of Geirolf’s spawn, but she felt no hesitation about killing him. With the demon god dead, it was every vampire for herself.
The vamp was a mess—raked by Reynolds’s claws, burned by her spells. Normally his armor would have protected him from sorcery, but the werewolf had bent and mangled the enchanted plate, leaving gaping openings her spell had been able to penetrate.
Now all she had to do was finish him off and enjoy all that lovely magical life force.
Despite the crusty feel of his burned skin, Celestine grabbed the guard by the chin and dragged his head back as she began to chant the spell. Her hand shook from one too many blasts, but she somehow managed to steady it long enough to cut his throat. Blood spurted right into her face. She gasped at the immediate slap of power.
The guard, seared and half-gutted, succumbed to her magical blade and died. His life force streamed into her in an orgasmic wash of pleasure. Celestine shuddered, basking in its sweet heat, until the pumping stopped and the magical transfer ended.
Now, she thought, sitting back on her heels with a sigh of relief. That’s much better.
Jim plunged through the dark woods, Faith in his arms. Leaves crunched under his running feet, and he had to dodge trees and duck low-hanging limbs. He could smell her blood rolling from the arm she held against her chest. The scent of magic grew stronger with every step. So did his dread.
Would she survive? What should he tell her?
She had a one-in-five chance of dying. Though he’d prefer better odds, she’d probably make it.
Then what, genius? Jim asked himself savagely. If she lives, I’ve got what I wanted—a chance to be with her. But I’ve got to be completely honest about everything. Faith isn’t going to accept anything less. Not after that lying bastard of an ex of hers.
But what the hell was he going to tell her? Facts streamed through his mind, but when he imagined putting them into words, they sounded ridiculous. A race of werewolves called the Dire Kind had been created by an alien wizard as a way to control King Arthur, who was actually an immortal vampire? Oh, yeah, that would go over real well. Faith would laugh in his furry face.
Unfortunately, the facts were the facts. He just had to lay them out and pray she’d buy them—and agree to the partnership he both wanted and desperately needed.
FIVE
Bright red knives of pain lanced remorselessly up Faith’s arm. Each of the werewolf’s running bounds only seemed to make the agony worse. She gritted her teeth and tried to think.
It was all so unbelievable. Witches throwing death spells, her sergeant turning into a monster and trying to kill her, another werewolf saving her life. She’d think she was dreaming, except her arm hurt too damn bad.
And what the hell was going on with the werewolf who’d rescued her? He’d saved her life at least twice, shielding her from magical blasts with his own body. But werewolves were supposed to be cannibalistic killers. Should she fight him or what?
Though considering all the blood running down her arm, she doubted she was capable of giving a kitten a fight over a ball of yarn.
Suddenly Wolfman skidded to a stop in a patch of moonlight that was painfully bright. She blinked the spots out of her eyes as he put her gently on her feet.
“We need to talk,” he told her in a deep, rumbling voice.
“What I need is a trip to the emergency room.” Faith grimaced as she cradled her wounded arm. “Damn, this hurts.”
She turned her wrist to get a look at the bite, but she couldn’t see anything for the blood streaming from it. “At least it’s not spurting—the bastard missed all my favorite arteries. Still needs stitches, though.”
“I’m afraid stitches aren’t going to do it any good.”
She looked up, then took an involuntary step back at his thoroughly alien face. He looked much more like a wolf than the vaguely apelike movie werewolves she’d seen. A chill stole over her. “What do you mean, stitches won’t help?”
“Hey, calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.” He spread his empty hands.
She eyed him. “That gesture would be a lot more convincing without the three-inch claws.”
“How about this, then?” His eyes shimmered, sparks of energy surging out of them to swirl around his body like a swarm of frantic fireflies.
The next instant, the flare of light was gone. So was the towering werewolf.
He’d become a tall, broad-shouldered man, handsome as a film hero. “Is this any better?”
Even with her arm aching in a kettle drum beat, Faith was impressed. His face was long, with broad, angular cheekbones and beautiful silver eyes under thick black brows. His short dark hair was thick and curly, and his mouth was wide and sensual, with a full lower lip that suggested kissing was something he’d do well.
His body was just as tempting, solid and strong in a black polo shirt and black pants. Her cop’s eye figured him for sixtwo in height and two hundred well-muscled pounds.
“Very nice,” Faith murmured. “But what did you mean about those stitches? I…shit!” A shaft of pain ripped up her arm with such viciousness, her legs buckled.
A warm male hand
caught her elbow. “Maybe you’d better sit down.”
“Maybe I’d better get to the doctor.” She licked dry lips and shivered, knowing even as she did that neither sensation was a good sign. “I need to put a tourniquet on this before I bleed to death. Can I use your belt?” So what if he was a werewolf—he’d saved her life, and at the moment she couldn’t afford to be picky anyway.
Sympathy shone in those wolf-pale eyes. “It’s not going to help, Faith. You’re Changing.”
She glowered at him. Great, her rescuer picked now to turn into a bastard. “Fine.” One handed, she tried to open the plastic buckle on her weapon’s belt.
He caught her hand. “Faith, listen to me. In about half an hour, either the wound will heal, or you’ll be dead.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Another stab of pain shot up her arm. “Ahhh—damn, that hurts!”
“That’s what I’m talking about—it’s starting.” This time he bent and picked her up like a child before depositing her in the leaves on her butt.
“Get off!” she snapped. “Who the hell are you, anyway? What are you talking about?”
“My name is Jim London,” he told her, crouching next to her. “I’m a Dire Wolf. And unless you get really unlucky, you’re going to be one, too.” As she squinted at him, uncomprehending, he took her uninjured hand in his. “Most everything they say about werewolves is wrong, except for one thing. When you’re bitten by a werewolf…”
“You become a werewolf.” Two and two clicked together at last, and she stared at him in cold horror. “You’re kidding me.”
He sighed. “I wish.”
Faith surged to her feet as panic rolled through her, even more ferocious than the pain of her wounds. “No. I’m hallucinating this. This is some kind of delusion.”
He stood up with her and took her shoulders in gentle hands. “Faith, you’re a cop. You know what’s real and what’s not. This is real, and you’re going to have to deal with it.”
“Oh, come on!” She curled her lip at him in scorn, trying to ignore the mental voice that told her he was right. “Werewolves? People throwing magic around? This whole evening has been one long acid trip. Somebody spiked my coffee at the Li’l Cricket.” She tried to shrug free of his grip, but he didn’t let go. Though gentle, he was stunningly strong.
And he certainly didn’t feel like a delusion.
His silver gaze didn’t waver. “I know how hard this is to believe, but you’re just going to have to accept it.” She pulled against his hold, but he held her still without any effort at all. “Or are you going to let them just get away with it?”
“Get away with what?”
“Murdering Tony Shay. And Samuel Cruise, and God knows who else. They’re killing people, Faith, and we’re the only ones who can stop it.”
She stopped fighting his hold and frowned at him. Her arm hurt like a bitch, but suddenly that was less important than what he was saying. “These lunatics were involved with Shay’s murder? And how do you know about that, anyway?”
“Shay was my best friend. I came here to investigate his murder.”
She’d suspected the killings of Shay and Cruise were connected, no matter what the detective said. “So the werewolf killed Shay.”
“No. Shay infected the werewolf.”
Faith peered at him. The trees did a slow circuit around her head. She really had lost way too much blood to process this conversation. “What the hell are you talking about? And would you please let go!”
London released her. “Tony was like me, a werewolf. I believe he ran into our witch friend back there, and she cut his heart out as part of some kind of magical rite.”
Which would explain why they’d never found that heart—Witchy had done God knew what with it. “But how did Reynolds get involved?”
“Reynolds?” He frowned down at her.
“He’s the werewolf who bit me.” As London’s brows lifted, she explained, “Sergeant Keith Reynolds. He was my field training officer when I joined the Clarkston PD.”
“How do you know he’s the rogue?”
“Rogue?”
He shrugged. “Rogue werewolf. He’s not one of us, so he’s a rogue.”
“Who’s ‘us?’ Never mind, I doubt it would make sense anyway.” Faith shook her head. “One way or another, it’s definitely Reynolds. He admitted it to me. But how did he get bitten?”
“I figure he was helping hold Shay down while the witch cut out his heart. Normally we can control who we infect, but given the circumstances, Shay must have lost it and bit him.”
“And now Reynolds has bitten me.” Faith swallowed hard, fighting down the fear. She had to keep thinking if she was going to make it out of this mess. “So the next full moon—”
“No,” London interrupted. “In about twenty minutes. The moon thing is one of those myths. The bite takes effect within an hour.”
“Shit.” Feeling numb, Faith crossed to the nearest tree and sat down against its trunk, holding her aching arm. “How? How can it happen so fast?” She looked up at him as he stood over her, silhouetted against the moon. “Hell, how can it happen at all?”
London crouched in front of her. “That’s a very long story, but what it all comes down to is magic.”
“Magic. Shit.” She let her head fall back against the tree. Its bark felt rough against the back of her skull as she stared up through its branches. The stars beyond them whirled in a slow, dizzy circle. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“What you have to do,” he told her gently. “Survive and adjust.”
“What am I going to tell the chief?” she asked numbly.
“Not a fucking thing.”
Startled by the anger in his tone, Faith blinked at him.
London’s mouth pulled into a cold, hard line. “Your chief is involved in this thing up to his neck. He stinks of black magic.”
“How do you know the chief?” Faith’s eyes narrowed. “Come to think of it, how do you know my first name? I sure as hell didn’t introduce myself.”
He dropped his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, we’ve, ah…been working together for a while.”
She stared. “I don’t think so.”
London lifted his head and met her eyes evenly. “You’ve been calling me Rambo.”
“No.” Her jaw dropped. He was the dog? She laughed, then stopped when she heard the hysteria in her own voice. “You’re lying.”
He shrugged. “I’d transform and show you, but we don’t have that much time, and that many transformations would be pushing it anyway.”
Faith struggled to rise, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. Catching herself against the tree trunk, she glared at him. “Oh, that’s convenient!”
“Faith, you just saw me as a seven-and-a-half foot Dire Wolf,” he told her patiently. “Why can’t you believe I can become a German shepherd? Why would I lie?”
He was right. Feeling numb, she propped herself there and watched him dust his hands and stand. “Why in the hell would you pose as my dog?”
“I told you, I’m investigating Tony’s death.” London reached down and steadied her, helping her regain her feet again. “I knew the chief was involved because I could smell the magic on him when I brought Tony’s mother to Clarkston to view his body. And I knew the only way I could investigate dirty cops was from inside the department, so—”
“The K-9 trainer,” Faith interrupted, as the pieces came together. “Is he a werewolf, too?”
“Yeah. My uncle.”
Suddenly a lot of little details made sense. “I thought that dog seemed to understand what I was saying.” She started to drag her good hand through her hair, then spotted the drying blood on it and grimaced. “So now I’m going to be like you.” A short, painful laugh escaped her. “A K-9 handler, turning into a dog. How ironic is that?”
He stepped closer and touched her gently on the cheek. “You’ll get through this, Faith. I’ll help you.”
&nbs
p; “I’m going to need it. So how does this…”
Faith broke off. There was pain and regret in his eyes. “What?” she asked, alarmed.
“I’m…just sorry.” He caught her under the chin and tilted her head up as he leaned in close. To her surprise, she realized he was about to kiss her.
Normally she would have stepped away, but she suddenly realized that, bloody and shocky though she was, she needed that kiss. She found herself rising onto her toes.
His lips brushed hers, warm and gently questioning. They felt so good, she let her own part.
London sighed against her mouth and slipped his tongue between her teeth in a slow stroke. He tasted like the deep woods after a rain, dark and wild and clean.
When he finally broke the kiss and stepped back, she had to fight the desire to pursue him. “I had to do that,” he told her, sadness in his smile.
“What aren’t you telling me?” The bite was shooting spikes of pain through her body now with steadily increasing speed. Whatever it was that was about to happen, it wouldn’t be long.
His eyes shifted fractionally. Faith went on alert with a cop’s sure instinct for when someone was hiding something. “Okay, London, what do you not want to tell me?”
He sighed. “Twenty percent of those attempting their first Change don’t make it.”
“What, like they get hung halfway?”
“They burn.” His voice sounded hoarse. He cleared his throat. “The magic runs rogue and kills them.”
“Damn.” She cradled her injured arm closer. The fire in the bite was intensifying. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No. I can transform first—they say it helps to have someone lead the way.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“No.” Faith squared her shoulders. “I want to have all the facts. And I appreciate your honesty.”
He nodded tightly, then offered, “The odds are in your favor, Faith. You should make it.”
Master of Wolves Page 8