Animal Attraction

by Lynn Marie

  “Get out of the car, Evelyn.”

  Chapter 16

  As far as interesting mornings went, this one was up there. A phone call from the Sherriff had informed Michael that Alfred Jones, Evelyn’s father, was currently checked into a rehab center two hundred miles away. This place apparently kept a pretty short leash on its patients, too, so there was very little chance he’d slipped out without anyone noticing.

  Interesting.

  A phone call to Brock’s elderly neighbor, Mrs. Finch, informed him that Brock’s whereabouts that night after the full moon ceremony were unknown. He hadn’t been at home, because as Mrs. Finch had been making her way back from Sully’s field, she’d heard him driving away on his motorcycle (“all that God-awful noise”).

  Interesting.

  He had no way of accessing credit card records or transactions, but gas was easy to come by. And you could get a bic lighter at any gas station in America. So of course he had means. What about motive?

  Michael checked his watch. Evelyn wasn’t going to be home for a while yet, so he had time. He wanted to go pay a visit to his cousin. And if his cousin didn’t happen to be at home, then all the better to find some proof. Gas cans, a box of matches… hell, a dartboard with Michael’s face on it… anything.

  Brock lived across town on the western outskirts. It was a quick run, even as a human, to Brock’s single story home. The place was really small, only a bit bigger than where Trip lived, and Michael was willing to bet it was a sty inside. He could imagine a certain frat boy feel to it, too—decorated with empty liquor bottles and faded posters of half-naked women.

  According to Mrs. Finch, Brock usually went to the gym on Sunday mornings. The closest gym was about an hour away and staying for two hours was really the only way to make that drive worth it. That meant if he was quick, Michael could snoop around.

  He turned his phone on silent then moved swiftly to the garage. The door was closed, but not locked. He slipped inside, almost knocking into Brock’s prized motorcycle. It was an Aprilia, brand new, and Michael nearly whistled before he caught himself. The garage was cluttered with hardware, broken power tools, some gardening tools, a lawn mower that looked like it had never been touched, shelves with different cleaning supplies and rodent and bug poisons. Things were stacked, thrown, and piled at random. Only the bike was set apart, clean as a whistle.

  Starting with a pile nearest the bike, he rifled through the dirty rags and trash. A metal gas can sat at the bottom of the pile. He picked it up.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Michael jumped and spun, his hands balling into fists as adrenaline flooded his veins for fight or flight. Brock stood in the doorway, the confusion and anger in his voice totally at odds with his appearance. He looked like a child, wiping the sleep from his eyes, his shirt askew like he’d thrown it on seconds before.

  So much for the gym every Sunday morning.

  Michael lifted his upper lip, baring his fangs. Though it was a shadow of the wolf-gesture, as humans only had vaguely sharp teeth, the act itself was enough to get his cousin’s attention. “Getting proof.”

  Brock’s eyes narrowed and darted to the can. He tensed. His voice took on a defensive edge as he approached Michael. “You’re trespassing. Get out.”

  Michael held his ground, though Brock advanced with his stance wide and ready to pounce. “Not until I get answers.”

  “What about?”

  “Where were you on the night of the fire?”

  Brock’s brows lowered. “Challenging you.”

  “After,” Michael ground out. He lifted the gas can.

  All of the sudden, Brock’s eyes widened and his shoulders dropped. He looked between the gas can and Michael. “You think…”

  “The fire was set with gas,” he went on, though without quite so much heat. Brock’s reaction seemed so candidly shocked.

  “That’s for my bike!” he protested. “And that stupid lawn mower, when it decides to work.”

  He hesitated. After all, a gas can didn’t really prove anything. Michael had them, himself. Still…

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “I don’t want to kill you, man!”

  Michael shook his head. “You’ve challenged me at every moon; you clearly want to be Alpha. If I were out of the way, you could step up—”

  Brock lifted his hands, shaking them to stop him. “The Elders asked me to challenge you—they weren’t sure you could handle being Alpha. And I definitely don’t want to be Alpha. Honestly, I don’t really know why you do. It’s way too much responsibility.”

  It fell into place easily enough. The Elders sometimes asked a younger wolf to fight in their place. “The Elders asked you to challenge me?” he asked carefully.

  He nodded. “Like I said, they weren’t sure you could handle it at first. They think you’ve stepped up, though. I wasn’t even going to challenge you this month.”

  “Christ,” Michael blew out a breath and raked a hand through his hair. “I thought you just didn’t like me.”

  A corner of Brock’s mouth lifted. “Well, there’s that. I don’t like you, but I’d never try to kill you.”

  Then who did? The question was left hanging in the air.

  “And Jesus, Mike, even if I did want you dead I wouldn’t have gone after your mate. For fuck’s sake! Whoever did it is a seriously fucked up wolf.”

  “All right,” Michael said, finally convinced, tossing the empty can on top of the pile of rags. “Sorry I accused you.”

  Brock shrugged, as if to say, it happens. “Fuckin’ a, asshole,” he grumbled. He gave Michael a curt nod and disappeared from the doorway.

  The guy was a dick, but at least he wasn’t a psychopath.

  So the question remained. Who was the arsonist? And who was the target?

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he started making his way home. On the home screen he saw that he’d missed two calls from Evelyn. Worry creased his forehead as he lifted the phone to his ear to call her back.

  When she didn’t pick up, he cursed. Until they figured out this arson thing, it was going to be hard not to be alarmed by every little thing. She was probably fine—in the shower or watching tv too loud to hear the vibrations.

  Still, it wouldn’t hurt to pick up the pace a little.

  She was frozen, momentarily, unable to believe what she was seeing. “Trip? What… that was you?”

  He took a step towards the car and she hit the lock button. He heard it and smiled a little. He lifted his hand and pointed a gun at her.

  “I said, get out of the car.”

  Her mind raced. How on earth did she get out of this? He had her keys and a gun. She could keep locking him out, but he could shoot her or bust through the window as easily as he’d broken down that door. She couldn’t run with her hurt leg—he’d be on her before she even made it one step—and she couldn’t fight him anyway…

  Suddenly, she felt her phone vibrate once. A text. Her phone was in her purse, on her lap!

  “Out of the car, now. Not gonna ask again.” He cocked the gun.

  She took a deep shaking breath and grabbed the door handle. She must have hesitated too long because he growled. Briefly, she reweighed the option of the locking-the-door game of tag. From what she could tell in her adrenaline-soaked moment of clarity, her best bet was to delay long enough to text or call Michael back. She’d already been about as successful fighting a wolf off as Michael had warned—which was to say, not very. It was time to try the other option he’d given her.

  Meekly, she opened the door and stepped out.

  “Get inside, Evelyn,” Trip said, pointing to the house with the barrel of his gun. She followed the motion with her eyes, but didn’t move. Of course he wanted her inside. Michael’s place was remote, but not the middle of nowhere—someone would definitely hear if he fired that gun and there was no way he’d want that. Maybe she could…

  “And don’t even think about trying any of t
hose fancy self-defense moves Mike’s been teaching you. They won’t help you and they’ll just piss me off.”

  She inhaled sharply.

  “Yup. He told me all about it. It’s cute, really, and it may protect you against humans, but do you really think that you can hold your own against a wolf?” His brows lowered over his eyes and his smile was maniacal. “I’m ten times stronger and twice your size. And you,” he paused, letting his eyes fall and scan her body, “are a sizeable lady.”

  She winced.

  “Now, move.”

  As he turned to escort her inside, she was somewhat gratified to see the blood dripping from under his shoulder blade. That must have been the human equivalent of the spot behind the wolf’s front leg. Unfortunately, it already looked like it was healing, though, and a thick scab stopped further bleeding.

  Lesson learned. Next time she had to aim for the heart.

  Her limping wasn’t fast enough for him, and he thrust his hand under her armpit to half-carry her in. She yelped as he twisted her shoulder and put more pressure on her hurt leg than she would have, but he was deaf to it. She stumbled when he dropped his hold.

  “Have a seat.”

  He gestured to the haphazardly moved couch in front of the door. Slowly, she obeyed, sitting in the middle with her body angled sideways towards him. She laid her purse next to her on the sofa so that her body would block it, trying to ignore it enough so that he wouldn’t wonder why she’d kept a hold of it.

  With her luck, her phone was way at the bottom under crinkly receipts and a rattling pill bottle, but she had to try and she had to keep Trip distracted. He wasn’t the most talkative guy, but he clearly had a lot on his mind... Then it was just speed dial 2 and hoping Michael’s wolf hearing could pick up their conversation, even if it wasn’t on speaker.

  And hopefully he’d fucking pick up the fucking phone this time.

  Trip’s gaze hadn’t broken from her, but as he lowered the gun she was able to relax her spine somewhat. He seemed to be calculating his next move, like Plan A hadn’t gone well and he didn’t have a backup yet. He wasn’t calm, per se, but focused. Well, that and really goddamn naked.

  She looked away. “What… what is this about, Trip? If you wanted me out of the picture—”

  “This isn’t about you.”

  Her eyes closed and she felt sick to her stomach. “You are after Michael. You started the fire. You were trying to kill him.”

  He fell silent, and then, “I knew he was there, with you. I knew after he took you to the council meeting…” He broke off with a laugh. He was lost in his story, now, and she took the blessing of his distraction to slide her fingers into her purse. “I could see it in his eyes. He’d bonded, so I knew you were sleeping together and I checked his place that night, so I knew you were at your apartment.”

  “You left evidence, Trip,” she said, unable to resist the urge to rub it in just a little. “The smoke detector and the gasoline—”

  “I honestly didn’t expect our backwoods police department to be able to detect gasoline. I thought it would just burn up right quick, everyone would assume it was because of the bakery, and then he’d be gone.”

  The hatred in his voice chilled her to the bone as her fingers curled around her phone. She pressed the wake button and hit the touch pad in the general area of the number 2.

  “But… why? What did Michael ever do to you?”

  “Michael,” he all but spat. “The Golden Boy. He gets everything—always has. He’s loaded, women treat him like he’s God’s gift, Alpha by default, even after that mess with town hall and the trailer park whore… He’s never had to earn anything, not like the rest of us mere mortals. Even in high school, they gave him that QB title because he was tall, not because he was the best.” Trip scoffed. “I went to college for six fucking years, got an engineering degree, but no. It’s his company. It’s his business. Because he’s the one with a vision,” he seemed to be mimicking someone, but she didn’t know whom.

  Clearly this had been festering for a long time, maybe their entire lives. The betrayal was so complete, so unexpected from someone who’d pretended like nothing was wrong… How could it have gotten like this? To the point where he was ready to kill?

  “But… why?”

  He sighed. “Is this what we’re doing? Really? Well, I suppose dead men tell no tales, and it feels fucking great to get this off my chest. Why do I want him dead, you mean?”

  She nodded.

  “Because he doesn’t deserve it. Not any of it. And I do,” he shrugged, like it was simple.

  She sat back, digesting that. Part of her thought she should somehow try to smooth things over—reason with him long enough to keep him calm. At least until help could arrive. The other part of her wanted to throw every curse word she had at him. She couldn’t believe what he’d almost done to the man he claimed to love. “Well, you’re wrong about one thing. He’s not Alpha by default. He’s earned that.”

  “You think so?” Trip asked sarcastically.

  “He told me he’s fought for the title. And he’s won every time.”

  Trip’s lips curled into a nasty smile. “That’s because he hasn’t fought everyone.”

  “I thought anyone could challenge him… If you really wanted to be Alpha and you thought you could win, why didn’t you?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I couldn’t do it at the full moon in front of everyone. How would it look for Michael’s best friend to challenge him? Even if I beat him fair and square, the town would say he was going easy on me. Or they’d think I betrayed him and then they’d never accept me as Alpha.”

  Well, technically he had. But Evelyn wasn’t about to point that out to the psychopath that had her at gunpoint.

  “But if he died, Brock would have to step up and the challenges would begin all over again. And I’d have that punk pinned in the dirt as soon as we got into the ring.”

  Evelyn had seen Brock—she doubted that Trip would have it quite that easy. “I still don’t understand what you hope to accomplish here. Even if you fight him and you win… what are you going to tell everyone?”

  “See,” Trip sighed dramatically, spinning the gun in his hand haphazardly. “That’s where you were supposed to come in. But you had to screw everything up.”

  “Me?” she breathed.

  “I thought it was perfect, actually. You’re the Alpha’s mate, but you’re an outsider and a human. I never thought they’d accept you. That business with the bridge… I thought you’d come in and offer to do it yourself and alienate everyone, or ruin their precious monument. I’ll admit I didn’t see it coming—I didn’t think you could get all those old cunts on your side. I’ll even admit I’m impressed.

  “So if this town isn’t going to drive you out, I have to do it. And once everyone knows you were his mate, they won’t think twice if I say that you disappeared and, like a good boy, Michael went after you. Brock would stand up as Alpha, and I’d challenge him the right way. If nothing else, Michael’s taught me that you have to do things the right way around here.”

  “The right way?” she repeated incredulously. “Is that how you think you’re doing this? You’re about to lie, cheat and murder your way into power! You really think no one is ever going to find out?”

  “We’re pouring concrete for the foundation of the community center tomorrow.” A sick grin cracked his face. “Don’t you just love the irony? You and Mike will literally help build the community center. No one’ll ever find you.”

  She went cold. She’d seen enough crime shows to know that he’d eventually be caught. But that wouldn’t save her life now.

  “Now that I think of it, you don’t really need to be alive when I bury you. And nothing would hurt my good pal Michael more than watching the love of his pathetic life bleed to death in front of him—coming too late to save you.”

  She lifted her hands. “Wait!”

  “You think I didn’t hear you make that call? The timing couldn’t
have worked out better if I’d done it myself. ” He paused, cocked his head to the side, and a slow, grim smile spread across his face. “Here comes lover boy now.”

  It was like a scene from a movie. Just as Trip lifted the gun, everything slowed to a stop. Time, Evelyn’s breathing, Trip’s movements… She dove from the couch just as the gun went off and the door came crashing down. She barely had a chance to process what she was seeing as a black blur flew through the air, straight for Trip. Another gunshot sounded, but dead silence followed it. Her eardrums throbbed.

  She ventured to look up, taking stock of the situation and realizing that, other than the dull throbbing in her leg from the earlier wound, she was all right. The bullet had missed her. There was an enormous—pony sized, really—wolf standing in the middle of the room, growling down at the man pinned under him. It was Michael, it had to be.

  Blood oozed from a spot on his left side, falling to the floor with a wet plop. He’d been shot, but he wasn’t down for the count. Trip was straining, thrashing, trying to avoid the teeth and claws aiming for his face. “Let’s finish this like wolves,” Trip shouted.

  Then suddenly, both of them calmed. Trip wriggled away, watching Michael’s snarling muzzle warily. Then, he held up both hands, including the one with the gun, and dropped it. He kicked it aside.

  Evelyn watched, terror-stricken but indescribably fascinated, as Trip’s limbs thickened and lengthened, his torso sprouted hair, his nose became a snout… she gasped and swallowed a little shriek when Trip’s wolf—reddish brown—stood to its full height. Only a tiny bit smaller than Michael, they seemed evenly matched. Or, they would have been, but now Trip had the distinct advantage of not having been shot.

  As they growled and circled each other, looking for openings, Evelyn felt sick with helplessness. She could only sit there, watching in abject horror as they struck each other and tore flesh with their teeth and nails. When the brown wolf’s jaw closed around the black one’s neck, she covered her eyes. She knew man-Michael probably want her to get out of there, but she couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to.