by Sky Winters
When the shadow had returned not six hours after she'd seen it at the storefront, Stella knew that something wasn't right. The next day, when she woke up to find three of them stretched across her floor in the light cast by her bedroom window, she had left her ground floor apartment and never looked back.
But Missy had been skeptical about these mysterious shadows, and Stella hadn't seen any more since she'd gone to stay with her old friend.
"Maybe," Missy had said in her infinite, catty wisdom, "you're seeing shadows because you are lonely. How long have you been unemployed now, Stella? I know that losing Will was tough, but eventually you're going to use your savings up and then where will you be? It's time you got a job and got back to work, time that you started meeting some people and having fun again. I think embracing life is going to fix these 'shadows' more than staying with me ever would."
At least when it was this dark outside, there weren't any shadows to be seen. With no light coming from any buildings to brighten the light, it was almost too dark to see her hand in front of her face. The advanced hour meant that there were few motorists, and Stella hadn't seen a car for a good ten minutes. With the subway down for the night, she was left to walk the distance between her place and Missy's.
"What are you doing out alone at night?" The voice spoke so close to her ear that Stella was sure the man was leaning over her shoulder as she walked. There had been no footsteps to forewarn her of his presence until he was already far too close for comfort. She'd shrieked, but the sound died quickly on her lips; the man clamped a broad hand over her lips and pulled her close.
"Do you want to die?" he asked. "If I wanted to, I already could have done plenty to make your life hell. Don't you think that if I was going to hurt you by now, I'd already have done it already?"
Caught in the darkness, all Stella had to go off of was the hand clamped against her mouth, the feel of his body against her back, and the sound of his voice. His chest was flat, hidden behind a thick layer of leather. The hand was gloved, but his fingers were bare. And he was tall. As Stella let her head fall back against him, she only hit his shoulder. She'd been right to be paranoid — someone had been stalking her, and he'd finally made himself known.
"If you want to live," he told her, "you're going to keep those pretty plump lips of yours closed, and you're going to come with me without a fight. You break away from me, I promise you you'll be dead — or worse — before you get three blocks. You follow my direction, you be good, and you'll get to keep your life. Nod if you understand."
Stella squeezed her eyes closed, praying to break from this nightmare, but when she opened them again she saw the darkness of the night and felt his gloved hand upon her. Tears beading in her eyes, she nodded. If only she'd turned back and begged Missy to let her stay just one more night, but it was too late for regrets. She'd been caught, and now she had to figure out how to get out with her life.
"Good girl," the man praised. The hand across her mouth dropped away, and he grabbed her by the wrist instead. Unable to see, he pulled her through the darkness and across the street. Stella nearly twisted her ankle on the curb, but even as she staggered, her aggressor did not slow. Wherever they were going, they had to get there fast.
Up another curb, and then along the side of a building. Stella's lungs began to burn as she struggled to keep pace, unspilled tears weighing down her lower eyelid as they crept along the surface of her eye. The man directed her around a sharp corner, then brought them to a stop.
"Don't move a muscle," he whispered through the darkness. Stella breathed in heavily, choking back a sob. "Stay tense. Do what I say."
Without further instruction, he released his grip on her wrist. Stella couldn't hear his footsteps, but instinct told her that the man wasn't standing next to her anymore. She was right. Seconds later, he swept her off of her feet and into his strong arms. Stella was only sure that it was him because of the fingerless gloves he wore.
"I'm going to put you down so you're sitting. You're going to keep your balance for me."
"Okay," she whispered. Whispering had to be fine, since he couldn't feel her nodding anymore. In hostage situations like this, as long as she didn't scream out for help, he wouldn't turn on her. Right?
"Putting you down now," he grunted. Thick, hard upholstery ran between her legs, but did not support them. Leather, had she to guess. So much leather. Her legs hung from either side, and before her, pressed against her groin, was a sturdy, metal compartment. When the man hopped on behind her, his heated body pressing against her back, Stella knew exactly where she sat. This was a motorcycle, and the man behind her, in the leather jacket and with the fingerless gloves was—
The bike roared to life all at once, and Stella jumped.
"Hold the fuck on," the man behind her barked. The headlights flicked on, and Stella saw them. The shadows. They stretched out from the surrounding darkness, reaching out for her. With a shriek of terror she clamped onto the hand grips as the stranger behind her kicked it into high gear. The hog ripped down the street, engine roaring as if to issue a warning. When Stella turned her head to look into the darkness they'd just left, she saw half a dozen sets of red eyes glinting through the darkness.
They'd been coming for her.
And as they shot down the street and skidded around a corner, Stella saw that the eyes were following, moving at an unnatural pace.
"Holy shit!" she gasped.
"Keep 'em closed!" the man behind her snarled. The sound of his voice was primal and fierce, and it was enough to shut Stella up. Unable to watch their advance any longer, she turned her attention back to the road. They were heading for the highway, speedometer chasing eighty through the twisting city streets.
Right as they swerved to take the on ramp, a second hair of headlights joined theirs. Another engine roared its greeting as a second bike fell in line beside them. In tandem the two riders hit the highway. Streetlights lit the roads here, and they wove around other drivers to a symphony of honks and shouts. Stella glanced over her shoulder to notice two things. The first was that the sector of the city they'd just left was plunged in total darkness. The second was man on the hog at their side. He was lean, but sleek. A full helmet covered his head, black visor glinting beneath the streetlights, angular black casing giving him a futuristic appearance. He wore a black leather jacket and riding gloves, dark jeans and black combat boots. It was as though he'd wanted to blend into the shadows.
The shadows and their ghastly eyes had given up the chase. Had the wind not been whipping at her so viciously, Stella might have sighed in relief, but the wild ride left no time for that. Instead, she contented herself with the sight of the city disappearing behind them. They'd hopped onto the interstate, and although she had no idea where it was going, Stella had a feeling that she would much rather be in the company of these two men than the legion of shadows behind her.
"Just keep holding on, girlie," the man behind her cried above the deafening wind. "We got you now."
Who 'we' was was yet to be determined, but despite the frightening introduction, Stella had peace of mind for the first time in weeks.
The city disappeared behind them, and with it, her troubles. What new dangers lurked on the horizon were beyond her for the moment, and she was grateful for it.
Peace at last. Stella could get used to that
Chapter Two
Both bikes pulled for the exit at the same time, and slowed for the first time all night. Plains stretched for as far as she could see, speckled intermittently with farmland, yet still their journey continued. Past the service center, past the only restaurant in town, and then out onto the narrow country roads. The second biker fell behind them, but it seemed to matter little. He revved the engine and cut across the grass on the side of the road, heading towards a large farmhouse in the distance. The bike Stella was on waited to turn off until it had hit the driveway, likely to keep an inexperienced passenger like her from toppling off. Even at low speeds, Stella wa
s sure that falling would be catastrophic.
Both bikes crawled to a stop before the house. The porch light was on, as were the inside lights.
The second driver was the first to come to a stop, and by the time Stella and her biker had caught up, he had hopped off of his hog and pulled the helmet from his head. A mop of unruly blonde hair shone beneath the moonlight, which he shook free with delight. He had to be about her age, Stella thought. Somewhere in his mid twenties. Youth still clung to his features, but his jaw was sharp and beautiful, and the shape of his eyes was innocent and arresting. The blonde tucked his helmet beneath his arm and looked at the two of them.
"That was close, Derek," he accused.
"As if," the man behind her barked. He hopped off of the bike then set his hands upon Stella's waist, lifting her off the bike whether she wanted down or not. "I was in control the whole time."
"Yeah. Right. Well, I happen to think your theatrics almost got all of us killed."
"Thinking is pretty fucking pointless, Tristen. Are we dead? No. We're alive. So thinking about what could have happened is stupid. I was in control, I got us out alive, and we got back the girl."
"Her name's Stella," Tristen rebutted. Stella's gaze shot to him, and he returned her stare without flinching. "That's right, isn't it?"
Of course it was right, but how did he know? What was happening? Stella looked over her shoulder at the man who'd taken her hostage and whisked her away from the city. He was taller than Tristen by a few inches, and looked older by a few years. His hair was kept short enough that it wasn't windswept, but had it been longer she felt it would have matched Tristen's. Blondes, the both of them. Slightly darker stubble lined his jaw, and since he'd fished her from the bike, he'd planted a cigarette between his lips and was digging for a lighter in the pocket of his leather jacket.
"Can one of you tell me what's happening?" Stella asked, looking back and forth between them.
"You mean you don't know?" Tristen asked.
"Course she doesn't," Derek replied curtly. He flicked the ignition wheel of the lighter down and flame burst forth to envelope the end of his cigarette. A short draw saw the cherry light. "She was walking through the goddamn city in the dark. You think she would have done that if she knew?"
Tristen's lips tightened. Their bickering was getting her nowhere, and there were a lot of questions Stella needed answered before she could find any kind of peace. Before they continued, she interrupted.
"You guys can fight later. Right now I need to know what those shadows are, who you are, and why you came to my rescue… If this is my rescue."
It had crossed her mind that two grown men bringing a woman to a house in the middle of nowhere could very well mean they meant her harm, but both of them had seemed like good enough people she didn't feel in danger. Tristen was gorgeous and ethereal, and Derek was the bad egg. If anything, it looked like they'd harass each other more than they'd bother her.
"You're Will's girl, aren't you?" Derek asked. As he spoke, he leaned over her shoulder and sniffed at her, as though he was smelling her shampoo. Stella tensed, squaring her shoulders and side stepping to put some distance between them. At that proximity, she'd heard each greedy little breath he'd taken. "You smell like Will's girl. You should know about all this shit."
Both of them knew too much. Stella crossed her arms as she distanced herself, standing near the porch. Tristen had known her name. Derek had known about Will. What game were they playing? She'd remember meeting guys as handsome as they were.
"How do you know about Will?"
Both blondes looked at her, mirror expressions of surprise. Tristen was the one who broke the tension, raising a hand to his forehead as if to lament the question.
"He never told her about any of it."
"What a fucking shitty thing to do." Derek took a deep drag on his cigarette and let the smoke curl upwards into the night sky. "You go inside. I'm going to talk to her. It's my place."
Tristen's eyes shot towards Derek, then he bowed his head and huffed a sigh.
"Right. Just be nice, okay? She's been through a lot."
Without any more argument, Tristen brushed past her and headed up the three stairs leading to the exterior porch. He opened the front door and slipped into the house, and Stella thought she heard voices raise to greet him from inside. Was this a prostitution circle? A drug ring? A gang hideout? Whatever it was, she was starting to feel more and more uncertain. There was a reason they wanted to keep their secrets, and if Will was caught up in this somehow, then Stella didn't know if she wanted to hear it.
"Let's sit." Derek gestured towards the porch stairs, unzipping the front of his jacket to take advantage of the night air. Beneath he was wearing a tight white t-shirt, so tight Stella could see just how toned he was. Derek had nothing to hide or be ashamed of. His was the body women dreamed of, and men spent hours in the gym attempting to achieve. Stella wasn't so blinded by Will's loss that she didn't take notice. Derek was a distraction — maybe the distraction she'd been waiting for.
Stella took a seat upon the porch, feet planted on the steps leading up to it, and Derek settled down beside her. He fixed either of his elbows on his knees and plucked the cigarette from his lips, exhaling deeply.
"So, Will," he began. The words trailed off and got lost into nothingness. "We knew Will. We knew Will really fucking well. You might say he was family, in an official-unofficial way, and when he died, all of us were wrecked by it."
Even now the memory stung. Stella bit down on her bottom lip to keep from thinking about it.
"I've never heard about any of you," she told him point blank. "Will was always isolated. He didn't really hang out with anyone. Where did you know him from?"
Derek snorted and flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette.
"Maybe that's the Will he led you to believe was the real deal, but that's not him at all. All that work he did? All those times he was out of time on business? Those times were with us."
Drug dealers or gang members. Stella set her jaw. Will had told her he was a business representative for one of the big companies in town, and she'd always thought it was strange that he was so successful at only twenty-seven years old. Although Derek's story was strange, it wasn't out of the question.
"And the business we do isn't conventional business. None of us are really conventional guys, by your standards. Neither was Will." Derek cleared his throat and sat for a moment, thinking. When he spoke again, there was no humor in his tone.
"We're werewolves. The whole lot of us. And Will was, too. But now he's dead. And that means trouble."
Werewolves. Had he not sounded so serious, Stella might have laughed. But as Derek spoke the words, she remembered the shadows and the red eyes behind her. And Derek had snuck up on her effortlessly. Uneasiness settled in the pit of her stomach, and she looked at Derek as he puffed on his light.
"What kind of trouble does that mean? Are you talking about the shadows that have been stalking me?"
"Yup. That's a big part of it. You see, Will wasn't just a werewolf. He was kind of our boss. Our alpha, if you will. And without him, well, no one really knows where they stand. And the problem with that is, other packs of werewolves know that we've got our heads on backwards right now, and they're moving in on our territory and trying to make sure we never get back on track."
Maybe she was still at Missy's house, and all of this was a surreal dream. Stella inhaled deeply, the scent of Derek's smoke and leather on the air. The night air was crisp, and her face still tingled from the whipping of the wind after their high speed escape. As far as Stella could tell, this was real.
"So why are they after me?" she asked. "And why did you swoop in to save me like you did?"
"You're Will's girl." Derek fanned his fingers out against the night, stretching his arms. "You're all that's left of him now. Whoever you choose amongst us is who's going to lead the pack as alpha. That wolf will be our new boss. If the other pack of wolves got
a hold of you, did you in, we'd probably never figure out who would lead without destroying each other in the process. But the decision of the alpha female is absolute. You get the first and final say."
Fantasy and reality wove one amongst the other, and Stella looked across the vast plains and to the night sky that stretched across the horizon. Stars hung like specks of paint flicked across a canvas there. What a picture Derek had painted for her.
"Then I choose you," she said without looking at him. "You were the one who came to my rescue when I needed it the most, and without you I'd be dead. You've got the courage that it takes to lead, so I pick you."
"Not so simple, girlie," Derek said with a little sigh. He tugged on the collar of his jacket and settled it anew against his shoulders. "It's more than that. You don't choose with your words — you choose with your body."
The ruffle of leather and of his solid body shifting upon the groaning wood of the porch broke through the night. Stella turned her head to look, and found Derek staring her down from an arm length's away.
"My body?" she asked. It was little more than a whisper. Will had died more than a year ago, and since then she'd never seriously considered another man. Will. Tall and strong, but with a kind, sweet face and a sense of humor a mile thick. He'd been perfect for her, and she was sure they'd be together forever. But a year was a long time to be alone — Missy was right. She'd been suffering by lingering on his memory as obsessively as she had. Maybe it was time to move on. Maybe this whole mess was beneficial for her sanity.
Maybe Derek was the right kind of guy to fill that immediate need.
"You'll take a new wolf as your mate," Derek told her. The words were as delicately put as hers, but they were loaded with subtle heat, "and that new wolf will lead us all. All of us are depending on you to make the right choice, Stella. It's up to you to lead us right."
Beneath the moonlight, the cut of his jaw and the slope of his brow cast gorgeous, dangerous shadows across his face. Derek snubbed his cigarette on the back of the stair he sat upon and flicked the stub aside. A last plume of smoke curled upward from between his lips, his eyes upon her.