Dark of Night

by T. F. Walsh

  “I tried to reload, but the damned shells kept falling. I was trying to get one into the gun when claws dug into my back. I screamed as it turned me over. I knew I was about to die. The creature’s nose almost touched mine as it sniffed me.” Ryan finished off his glass of wine in a gulp and grimaced.

  “Then I recognized him. My mind cleared and I knew who he was. Ugh didn’t drown. He stood over me, dripping bloody saliva onto my neck.

  “He laughed at me, taunted me in an awful, grating voice that bubbled up from his throat.” Ryan looked directly into Lydia’s eyes. “Then he lowered his head to my shoulder and ripped away a chunk of flesh.”

  “Oh, God.” Lydia’s hand covered her mouth, then slipped along her throat to her shoulder.

  Ryan got up and knelt before her, taking her shaking hands in his. “I know.”

  She seemed to crawl into herself. He liked her better angry.

  She lifted her face. “I was starting to think I imagined it.”

  “You didn’t imagine it.” He rubbed her arms.

  “It’s the same man.”

  “Yes.”

  “Ugh is the Butcher, but it’s not a man. Oh.” She lifted a hand to his face, her fingers igniting a trail of flame over his stubble. “You were attacked by him, too.”

  Her breath caressed his face even as her hand landed lightly on his chest. Heat radiated from her body. He’d knelt in front of her to comfort her, but now he wanted to ravage her. Nibble those luscious lips. Dig his fingers into her soft skin. He shook, fighting for control.

  • • •

  Lydia’s heart went out to him. Kneeling before her, his head bowed, Ryan’s body shook. She reached for him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him tight to her chest.

  He groaned, “Lydia.” He ran his hands up her thighs then stopped.

  Need overcame her. She tried to hold onto facts of the case, her anger at the Butcher, anything but the firm hands now skimming her back, and the hot breath panting against her neck. Thoughts slipped out of her mind like sand through her grasping fingers.

  She clutched the tattered remnants of her control and whispered, “Ryan.”

  He raised his head and their eyes met. He struggled. She could see it. Biting her lip, she reached for his face and rubbed a hand up the coarse shadow on his cheek.

  His nails gripped the small of her back. “I need to finish this,” he said, his voice thick as he started to pull away.

  “No!” She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him near. Don’t back away now. Desperate, she crushed her lips on his, her tongue demanding entrance.

  He met her assault with one of his own. She tasted wine on his lips. Even as she ripped his shirt from his shoulders, his possessive hand gripped the nape of her neck. She released a joyful moan when his other hand snaked up her skirt. His fingers tightened on her thigh, stopping short of her thong. Anticipation of his touch had her vision swimming.

  Raking her nails across his back, she reared to look at him. Mouth swollen and eyes dilated, he licked at the blood she’d drawn when she bit his lip. They froze just a moment while their gazes met. Then he grinned, teeth and eyes gleaming.

  Both of his hands slipped to her waist. Grasping, he slid her from the chair to the floor. She didn’t land gently, but his power and control fired her further.

  He loomed, the muscles in his chest rippling as he took hold of her top in both hands and ripped it in two. Exposed, her nipples hardened. He paused, looking at her breasts a moment before bending to nip at them. Lydia arched, groaning, aching for him to take more. To take her.

  Instead, he shuddered and stood. Confused, mortified that he might mean to end it, she turned her head, closing her eyes. Part of her wanted to sink into the floor. Another part raged. She wanted him, and damn it, she would have him.

  With a growl, she sat. Her fury softened slightly when he took off his belt. Impatient, she went to him and pushed aside his hands to unfasten his jeans. She ripped the boxers aside, snarling, and took his shaft in her hand. Like a rock wrapped in satin, the mass of it made her ache to have it inside her.

  After seconds of letting her nibble and lick her prize, he pushed her to the floor and stretched out on top. Bruising and nicking her skin, his hold scratched and possessed. Teeth raked across her breasts, sending feverish chills through her.

  They rolled, and she bit his shoulder, tasting salty sweat and the metallic flavor of blood.

  “Now,” she demanded. Her voice sounded coarse to her ears.

  They rolled again and he entered her. She screamed as an explosion of pleasure washed through her. Meeting every thrust, her world tilted. Eyes closed, she wrapped her legs around him.

  “Lydia.” His gruff voice called through a fog. Arms encircled her, lifting her from the floor until she rode on his lap. Rough lips met hers, even as their hips pounded together. “Look at me,” he ordered, pressing his forehead to hers.

  She obeyed and focused on his eyes. The deep green of them enveloped her. Even as her body built to orgasm, they possessed her. Something in her mind connected, like a disjointed socket slipping into place. “We are one,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he panted.

  Joined, she shared every delight he took from her. Every jolt of sensuous pleasure ran between them like an electrical current, swelling, until together, they detonated.

  Chapter 16

  Lydia lifted her head from Ryan’s shoulder, taking all her strength. All energy, motivation, and rage of the past week drained and left her relaxed.

  For the first time in her memory, she felt complete. A gaping breach she never knew existed became filled.

  There hadn’t been any steady men in her life, and she’d never thought she needed one. The brief interludes in her past were just that, intermittent periods of intimacy. Not real relationships.

  Now, she sat on the lap of a man who held her, caressing her back with light fingertips and making every part of her tingle. She knew she would never be whole if they didn’t stay together.

  Rising, she kissed his ear. He stood and held her close for a moment before letting her go. She felt his stare as she left the room to get dressed.

  When she reentered, heat rose inside her, reacting to his penetrating gaze. A cold streak ran down her spine. Uncomfortable, and alternating between flashes of heat and submersion in ice water, she racked her mind for something to say.

  “Um.” She poured another glass of wine and placed the empty bottle on the kitchen counter. Turning, she found his eyes still on her. Staring at her. Into her.

  Having settled in the recliner, he’d raised the footrest and folded his hands across his lap. And watched her. What did he wait for? Becoming increasingly agitated, she shifted from one foot to the other. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.

  “What?”

  No reaction at all.

  “What?” she said louder. She trembled and noticed her voice raised an octave. “Do you regret this?” She waved a hand at the floor they’d so recently vacated.

  “Do you understand what just happened?” His eyes seemed to penetrate her soul.

  “Shit, Ryan. I was here wasn’t I?” She put her glass on the coffee table and flopped onto the couch. “I rather enjoyed it. What’s the problem?” She couldn’t look at him. Didn’t he feel as good as she did? Didn’t he enjoy it? How could he be so passionate one moment and so calculated the next?

  Sure, a one–night stand, a quick romp in the sack to take the edge off, fine. But this was more. Oh, so much more. He had to see that. The glow warming her a minute ago dimmed, replaced with a cold chill.

  Her mind started to fog. She fought against it. Tried to clear it. An image, like a daydream, started to form in her mind. The edges of the picture were grey and fuzzy, but in the center lay Ryan, spread eagle on ice. Dazed and c
onfused, he rose. She felt his disorientation as easily as she felt the couch beneath her.

  He called for his companions and searched for signs of the man who attacked him. He stumbled in the direction he thought a village might lay.

  Time passed in the vision, and she sensed his hunger became nearly unbearable. He needed food. Off the ice now, he trudged through sparse trees and fields of snow.

  At sunset, he discovered something lying in a bloody snow bank ahead — a human leg. He grabbed the dismembered limb and frantically took a bite. Frozen solid, the leg wouldn’t give the smallest piece as he gnawed at it. Frustrated, he howled his rage and discarded it. Her blood raced in frustration for him.

  He walked by the light of a full moon, following a smell he’d never noticed before. He pursued food. Tracking for hours, he hunted the source of the luscious aroma. Lydia started to salivate.

  Then he came upon a campfire. Beside it sat an old man. Sled dogs tied to trees surrounding the camp growled as Ryan circled. The old man smelled so tasty. Ryan’s mouth watered with anticipation. Bounding from the cover of the woods, he roared with hunger.

  The old man jumped with fright and collapsed. Ryan sniffed his would-be dinner, revolted to find it dead already. Hungrily, he turned to the dogs. She ground her teeth, her body tensing as she lived the attack.

  Ryan woke on the third morning, covered in blood and fur. The remains of the dogs surrounded him. In a flash, memory returned and he jumped to his feet in disgust. The old man’s body lay nearby, now surrounded by the carcasses of his dogs.

  Weeping at the monster he’d become, Ryan attempted to bury the dead man, piling snow over the body. Then he mournfully gathered the remains of the sled dogs and threw them in the fire.

  “What the hell!” She jumped from the couch, heat rising to her face.

  “I followed the old man’s tracks in the snow back to a small town, and made it back to civilization soon after. That’s the rest of the story.” While she’d been entranced, he’d wandered to the window to peer out. Now he turned, his face impassive at her newfound rage.

  “This is impossible,” she sputtered, pacing again.

  “Yes, well.” He went to her and gripped her shoulders to hold her still.

  “Werewolves don’t exist!” She broke from his grip. “Ridiculous. Insane. No, there’s some other explanation.”

  “Really? Do you have one for all the dead squirrels you slept with the other night? How you ended up at the zoo?”

  “I chased the Butcher into the zoo.”

  “And simply decided to sleep there?” His amusement tickled at the edge of her mind, and she fought the urge to smile.

  “How did you know about the squirrels?” She bowed her head, ashamed.

  He closed the distance between them and sniffed her neck, sending electrical fingers of pleasure through her body. “I smelled them on you.”

  “Oh, God,” she whispered as he kissed just under her ear. “This isn’t real.”

  His hands gripped her hips and he pressed her to him. “You’re going to have to get used to it.”

  She laid her palms against his hard chest. “Interesting words for a man who spent the last few years plotting revenge.”

  “Not revenge, exactly. And I’ve grown a lot in the past week or so.” He kissed her tenderly. “This is our life, for better or worse.”

  “Our life? How can we have a life? They never have lives in the movies.” She couldn’t bring herself to say werewolf again. “They always lose their minds and kill themselves. They’re racked with guilt.”

  “Guilt at killing innocent people.” He took her head in his hands and looked in her eyes. “Have you killed anyone, Lydia?” When she paused, he added, “Since you were attacked?”

  “No. Not if you don’t count the squirrels and antelope.” She shook her head. “It’s hard not to count them.”

  “I know.” He stroked her shoulders.

  Holding on to him like a life raft and the only thing keeping her from falling into the depths of madness, she asked, “How come you didn’t go crazy like Jacobs?”

  “I did. Those first three days I was lost. But after the full moon ended and I hadn’t managed to actually kill and feed on anyone, I was free. I was in the wilderness, away from civilization. There was no opportunity.”

  “After the full moon.” She pressed her forehead against his chest and groaned, “Oh, God.”

  “Accept what you are, darling.” He stroked her hair.

  “Okay then, why haven’t I gone crazy?” she asked, still nuzzled up to him.

  His hand paused on her hair. “I don’t know.” He led her to the couch and reclined on it with her. “Perhaps because you’re a woman. Perhaps because you had me here to ground you. Could be because you started the rabies shots.”

  The feel of his body stretched on the couch beneath her had a soothing effect on her nerves. “You think it could be a form of rabies?”

  “You’re the one that thought it could be a disease, Lydia. But I’m certainly not going to hand myself over to science so they can find out.”

  She snorted on a laugh. “Me, neither.”

  They lay in silence a moment, Lydia resting on his chest and listening to his heartbeat.

  “Perhaps the drive is different for a female,” he suggested. “It could be you’re drive was to mate, not to kill.”

  “Unlikely. That doesn’t explain the animals.” She thought a moment. “That would be hunger, not murder.” Another pause. “No, because if the drive was to mate, I would have thrown myself at you, and we would have done it the first night I stayed here.”

  “True,” he acknowledged. “I’ve tried to study this on my own. Research werewolf lore.” He squeezed her shoulder when she flinched at the word. “They focus on males. The urge to kill humans is overwhelming, at least through the first full moon. They say if you don’t kill a human during your first full moon, you can beat the curse.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Yeah, well if I lived in the dark ages and I’d managed to get through without killing anyone, I wouldn’t let them know some residual effects remain. Would you?” When she shook her head, he continued. “There are hundreds of theories on how to turn a werewolf human. I’ve tried most of them, and so far nothing’s removed all the symptoms. Reflexes and sense of smell are heightened, and I still get irritable and lose my temper once a month.”

  Lydia couldn’t help but laugh. “Welcome to the plight of every woman in the world.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, well.”

  She thought back to his story. He had told her the second half without words. Jesus, she was slow. “Did you know you could send an image into my mind?”

  “Projection. Ugh would torment me with visions when I got too close. He doesn’t block his thoughts when he projects. Arrogant ass.” He shrugged. “But it worked out well for us. I’ve never been able to, I guess transmit is the word, before. But I thought after we’d mated, we could communicate this way.”

  It made as much sense as the rest of it. And telepathy logically answered how pack animals communicated. Everything about this was surreal. Thinking about using supernatural abilities. Dealing with, hell, becoming a supernatural being. Mating with one. Wait a second.

  “Mated?” She pushed up to look in his eyes, which twinkled with laughter. “That’s not just sex, is it?”

  His voice deep, his chest rumbled as he answered, “No, darling, it’s not.”

  Never before had her heart soared and sank simultaneously. Too much, too fast. Focus, damn it. Focus. One problem at a time. But was it a problem? Didn’t she want this? A companion? A partner?

  No, not now. She needed to concentrate on the job. She only needed the job. Not this distraction.

  Oh, but his embrace held such tenderness and w
elcome.

  “All this new information is enlightening, but doesn’t get me close to taking down the Butcher.” She traced a finger around his chest, outlining every muscle through his T-shirt.

  The warmth of his arms felt better than a warm bath. It took concentration to form a coherent thought and not sink into him. Even then she felt herself slipping.

  “I can’t think like this.” She kissed the stubble on his chin and made to stand.

  He wrapped his legs and arms tightly around her. “Don’t think,” he said, kissing and sniffing the top of her head. “Weren’t you ordered to rest a few hours?” His fingers pressed into tense spots on her shoulders and back.

  “Hmm,” she agreed, starting to relax and shutting out one of the warring voices in her head. “Who am I to disobey orders?” She mumbled the words into his chest and drifted to sleep, lulled by Ryan’s heartbeat and talented fingers.

  • • •

  He paced the concrete floor. Bitch should have been alone. He growled and swiped at the man who cowered before him. He wanted her alone. He wanted to snatch her and bring her here.

  He lowered to the terrified man’s face. Nothing the man said made sense. What good is groveling when you couldn’t understand it? Even the scent of his fear smelled off. Corn chips. Just wrong. He resumed his course across the warehouse floor.

  He paced, liking to think of himself as BB. He had no home. He settled anywhere that wasn’t occupied. Warehouse, abandoned store, empty house. Didn’t much matter as long as he had a place to brew his income. After all, a guy couldn’t live off terror alone. He grinned and licked his lips.

  As long as he could remember, he’d created concoctions for those who needed a little pick-me-up. Those people would be lost without someone like him. They couldn’t be constructive members of society without his brew. And if they happened to abuse it, well, that wasn’t his problem.

  And since that beautiful night they picked up the drugged hitchhiker, BB’d never had to sample his own merchandise again.

  He wanted to tell the tale. He wanted to tell that bitch cop. But instead, he needed to work with what he had, and hunkered down in front of the little foreign man.