by Unknown
Then Slate launched forward with a roar.
Mark slammed the door in his face. Quickly, he slapped the deadbolt into place. But for good measure, he gripped the cabinet next to him, and flexed his muscles, heaving it over on its side. As it crashed to the ground, shots rang out through the wooden door. He flinched back against the wall and bullets zipped past his face. Damn Lacey and her fear of guns. Mark cursed as he ducked his head and dashed toward the basement steps, next to the kitchen. He didn't know if he had enough time to spin the lock on the safe but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to put up a fight.
"They ain't looking for answers no more," Cole quipped as he sought cover in the hallway.
"We need to get downstairs." Mark growled and ran past him.
They turned the corner and Mark pulled on the door to the basement. It groaned under his weight but wouldn't budge. I should have fixed the sticky door when Lacey asked me to, he thought and gave it another pull.
Glass shattered behind him and he looked up as a gun poked through the hole in the kitchen door. The bang reverberated off the walls and rang in his ears as plaster exploded next to his head.
"Damnit." He ducked back around the corner. "Upstairs!"
"What?" Cole asked. "How—"
A loud crash came from the front hall.
"Just go!" Mark pushed him back the other way and they raced up the stairs.
More shots cracked behind them and bullets sank into the drywall. Hissing liquid metal spat back out of the holes. Silver. Mark knew the smell—acrid and poisonous to his heightened senses. These guys aren't FBI.
As they reached the top level, Mark picked up an end-table with a large vase and tossed it down the stairs. He heard a satisfying shout as the wood and ceramics crashed down on human bodies.
Reaching the master bedroom, Mark closed and locked the door. Cole helped him slide the heavy oak dresser in front of it.
Then with a loud smack, the door shuddered and wood fell away in splinters from a gash at the top of the door. The two stared at the edge of a silver axe blade, sticking through the hole.
Cole's eyes widened as he backed away from the door. "Who the fuck are these assholes?"
With a high-pitched creaking sound, the axe pulled free. For a brief moment, Mark caught a glimpse of the men through the thin gap: black suits, large guns, grim smiles. There were at least three, maybe four. Then the axe smacked again, shaking the thick wood.
His hand closed into a fist as another thwack split the door up to the frame.
Behind the veil of his anger, Mark struggled as he tried to figure out what to do. Who were these guys? And why were they busting up his home?
His outrage boiled over. He only wanted to live a normal life, in a secure house, protecting and loving his beautiful wife. Yet he had failed on all accounts. And now men were shooting at him.
He wanted to kick them out the door, punch them with all his rage, to tear them apart by their limbs. Fire churned in his belly as he yearned to bring down all his frustration on those who had violated his home and threatened his life. Most of all, he wanted to force his life back to the way it was. And his inability to fix this situation fueled his burning rage.
Pain rippled through his body as his joints separated, cracking and popping. His chest bulged and the shirt ripped, flinging buttons around the room. Blood-red flooded his vision as the agony burned in his veins.
A chunk of the door fell away and muzzle flashes cracked through the opening. Searing pain streaked over his bicep as a bullet grazed his skin. His flesh tingled around the wound and a wash of nausea filled his throat. If they hit him square in the chest, he might not survive. But he might get one of them before they do. Lacey...
Then he locked on the sunlight, beaming out from behind the curtains. Bullets thumped into the wall as he charged across the room, his furry arms braced over his elongated face.
The window exploded like confetti and Mark flew out onto the roof. His body rolled as he bounced down to the eaves. As he reached the edge, his clawed toes dug into the gutter, and he launched out over the front yard, landing safely on four legs, next to the driveway. The loose pants slid off his haunches, freeing him to run faster.
A brief howl cut through the crisp morning air. Then Cole appeared next to him, panting with his long tongue hanging out of his muzzle.
The men burst out the front door, their shoes crunching over the gravel as they sprinted after them.
Mark looked back, relieved that he had the speed of his four legs. But they were fast for humans. And Cole was barely keeping up with Mark's powerful gait.
Then his eyes widened as the man named Slate threw his gun aside and reached his hands up to tear his dress shirt open. Like liquid, his arms slipped out of his coat as fur sprang up over his body. He hunched over as he ran and his pants slid from his thighs before his front paws hit the ground. The dark sunglasses flew up from his elongated face and clatter on the ground behind him. Without the shades, his bright yellow eyes focused on Mark like a hawk locked on its prey.
Cruz and two other men followed behind, shedding their clothes as they also changed into wolves.
Goddamn, Mark swore inwardly. They're all werewolves.
His claws dug into the asphalt and his breath exploded from his lungs as he tore down the road. Cole kept up, his long legs kicking furiously as he ran, but the other werewolves were closing on them.
A lone car barreled down the lane in front of them and as it came into view, he saw cleanly dressed men glaring out the windshield.
How many are there? Mark snarled with frustration.
The sleek, unmarked Crown Victoria screeched to a halt and the doors flew open. Braced over the frame, the men leveled shotguns and rifles at them.
Cole whined and Mark gritted his teeth as the blasts tore into the road around them. Pellets sprayed his shoulder and dug into his skin. What had seemed like a brilliant escape plan was quickly turning even more hazardous. Out in the open like this, they would be gunned down like animals.
He turned abruptly, his paws skidding on the smooth asphalt as he dove into the forest next to the road. Gunfire cracked behind them and splinters of wood stung through his thick coat as the bullets sank into tree trunks.
The snarl of wolves echoed behind them as they weaved through the dense foliage. But they had cover now, and their bestial forms would be harder to track through the woods.
As they raced up a gradual slope to a thick stand of trees, Mark spied another wolf at the top of the rise. A growl rose in his throat and he bristled, but his aggression fizzled as they closed in.
This one was different. Tan in color, it didn't charge at them like the agent-wolves. Instead it ran ahead and gave a bark. And though Mark wouldn't have been able to explain the complexity of his heightened senses in any human tongue, he knew just from inhaling the scent of the wolf that it didn't belong with the group behind them. It smelled natural and musky, like the woods, a sharp contrast to the too-clean smell of the others.
As they reached the ridge, it yipped again and broke off down a trail.
Mark paused with Cole next to him, both panting from their exertion. The sounds of their pursuers echoed behind them.
With only a few options available to him, Mark launched down the hill. The tan wolf looked back at them before dashing down to a creek.
As he blindly followed the animal, a black-coated wolf materialized from between the dark trees and fell into stride with them. Then two more gray wolves flanked them on the other side. I hope this was a good idea, Mark thought as his hackles raised. Cole glanced at him with weary eyes as he galloped next to him, his paws splashing through the icy cold water.
The two gray wolves dashed ahead and crossed their path, kicking up spray and mingling their scents, before disappearing into a tight grove of trees.
The tan wolf stopped at a rough overhang and disappeared in a tangle of twisted plants. Mark and Cole ducked under the matted curtain of vegetation, crawling wi
th their bellies close to the damp ground.
Past the hanging tendrils, Mark found enough headroom to stand and flex his long limbs. It was a small cave with just enough room for the three of them. The little alcove was chilly, with a trickle of water running over their paws, and it was dark. But there was enough separation in the vegetation to see down the stream.
Just outside, the black wolf stood on the bank for a moment before darting back into the forest, in the opposite direction from the gray wolves. They're splitting the trail.
Mark listened to their heavy panting, occasionally glancing at the stranger. Then the tan wolf closed his jaw as he sniffed the air. Mark shut his mouth as well and watched. He sensed them too: dark and heady, with a hint of an underlying clinical odor that seemed out of place—like a residue of ozone and isopropyl alcohol.
They materialized from the trees like ghosts, moving on silent paws. One sniffed the ground at the edge of the stream. Another glanced up where the black wolf had gone.
Mark tensed as the large gray wolf's gaze wandered to their hiding spot. The creature's eyes were abnormally yellow, bright, and intensity flared in their depths. And his shaggy coat was smoky, like graphite.
Then one of his companions growled as he darted up the far bank, following the path of the two smaller gray wolves. Their attention focused, the creatures sprinted into the tree line.
The tan wolf let out its breath and slipped out from the overhang. Mark paused for a moment, his lip curling as he stared at the muddy paw prints leading up from the stream bed. Werewolves or not, he didn't like running away. But finding Lacey was his first priority. He could worry about the strange wolves later.
He sprang into step with the tan-colored wolf. And the three of them chased back up the hill, following the black wolf's trail.
* * * *
Lacey blinked and gazed up at the rough stone ceiling. Her mind was fuzzy and images came back to her in fragments. Someone carried her—a woman—maybe over her shoulder. A naked woman, she realized as she glanced down at shapely, round buttocks.
But she must have passed out because the last thing she remembered—
"Oh my God," she cried as she sat up. Then she gasped as a sharp pain shot up her back and reverberated like a chainsaw down her leg.
"Relax." A warm hand pressed down on her chest. "You are safe with us."
Slowly, she lay back, feeling the rough wool blanket scratching against her skin. Then she turned her head and squinted through gritty eyes as she tried to focus on the speaker.
In the dim light, she saw only long red hair at first. Bright scarlet waves spilled down to the curve of her backside. And her features were delicate: petite nose, soft smile, eyes twinkling with mystery. Her voice was melodic with an exquisite accent Lacey couldn't quite place.
"My name is Rebecca." She leaned forward and brushed the hair away from Lacey's face. "You were bitten but the wound is healing nicely."
"Wolves—" Lacey croaked. The bandage on her face pulled against her jaw and made it difficult to fully enunciate. "A bunch of them, all fighting."
"I know," Rebecca replied. "It was a good thing we were nearby. What do they call you, sweetie?"
"Lacey." She swallowed and moistened her dry lips. "My husband was with me... and our friend. Where are they?"
"They were not attacked, though we found their tracks. I believe they searched for you until dawn. We've sent our best rangers to find them."
Lacey closed her eyes for a moment, nodding with relief. "Where am I?"
"In a cave." Rebecca smiled. "Our home."
Lacey cocked her head. "You live in a cave?"
"I don't think it is that strange for those who are like us."
"What do you mean, 'like us'?" Lacey asked carefully.
Rebecca smiled. "Werewolves, of course. Did you not know you were changed?"
Lacey stared at the woman. "The red wolf."
"Yes." She nodded. "And my mate was the cream-colored beast."
"So you were saving me from—who were the other wolves?"
"That we do not know." The male voice echoed through the cave and Lacey jerked. Straining her neck, she tilted her head to the side.
By the murky entranceway, leaned a man in a long sleeved shirt and airy pants. His jet-black hair fell playfully over his forehead and his skin was bronzed from a deep tan. Although his eyes were shadowed in the dim light, his look was warm with concern. With his arms crossed, he balanced on one bare foot, while the other crossed his ankle to brace against the uneven wall.
"Speak of the devil." Rebecca laughed. "My love, this is Lacey. Lacey, my husband and mate, Jeremiah."
The man gave a brief nod. "We were tracking them when we stumbled upon you. At first I thought they were Huntsmen. That was before they changed."
Lacey braced on her elbow and groaned as her stiff muscles resisted the movement. With gentle hands, Rebecca helped her to sit up and turn, so her back rested against the wall.
The blanket fell away from Lacey's naked breasts. Quickly she snatched it back up to cover herself with a blush. Though she had to admit she might not have needed it, except for her knee-jerk modesty. The air in the cave was pleasantly warm, and the stone radiated an unnatural yet pleasing heat against her skin.
As her aching muscles relaxed, she took a deep breath before she spoke. "Why would hunters be after me?"
Jeremiah scowled. "Not hunters in the recreational sense. 'Huntsmen' from an organization called the 'Hunt'." Then his eyes met hers. "But they do prey on werewolves."
"Oh." She shivered despite the warmth of the room. There was so much she didn't know—hadn't even guessed at. She'd barely begun to understand how to live as a werewolf, let alone considered that there must be others. And dangers too. Men who wanted to... hunt her?
"But do not worry," Jeremiah continued. "We have learned to hide ourselves. As long as we remain here, the Hunt will never find us."
Rebecca gave him a cautious look. "Someone has found us. Those strange wolves are well aware of our presence now."
"They will move on." Jeremiah shot his wife an indulgent glance. "Or some of them may even join us if they come to accept our ways. Though they must first learn to treat guests with proper respect." He tilted his head in a slight bow at Lacey.
She blushed and clutched the wool blanket tighter between her breasts. The werewolf leader was charming, she had to give him that. And even if his demeanor was a little rough around the edges, she decided that she liked both him and his wife.
Then her eyes widened as a new knot of fear clutched at her stomach. "Mark—my husband—he doesn't know about the hunters. I mean, Huntsmen."
Rebecca gently touched Lacey's shoulder. "Don't worry, our rangers will find your mate, and your other companion. They will be well protected, and will join you here soon." A wide smile curved on her face. "Now you should rest, so you have your full strength back to greet them."
"Yes. Your questions will have to wait for later." Jeremiah kicked off the wall and offered a hand to Rebecca. "We must tend to the camp."
The couple strolled out of the room and Lacey listened as their footsteps echoed down the tunnel. This is all so strange, she thought. Then she slid back down onto the makeshift bed. It was not the most comfortable mattress, but her tired muscles didn't complain. And soon she relaxed as sleep pulled at her eyelids.
The cave dissolved in her dreams, opening up to a canopy of evergreens, like emerald spires glowing in the bright morning light. She heard muffled birds, chirping their morning songs as a slight breeze disturbed her hair, tickling her nose. Naked, she inhaled the wild and stretched her arms.
But soon the warmth faded as clouds covered the sun. The trees faded as a thick fog swallowed the forest and rolled over her. A strange mist surrounded her, covering her in a suffocating blanket of haze. Her legs buckled and her arms sagged, as if she swam in mud.
Invisible weights pulled her eyelids closed and her mind filled with cotton-fluff and bees. Tryi
ng to focus, her thoughts fell apart as they formed. A bell sounded in her ears, ringing for an eternity. Eventually it faded into static, buzzing insistently like the dial tone of a dead line.
As she spiraled into numbness, the fuzzy sound lifted into howls.
A large bed appeared under her, both soft and clean. She recognized the nightstand and curtains. It was her home. But the windows were dark from night, and her silky, black dress spread like liquid over her body.
Hands gripped her ankles and pulled her open, exposing her flushed lips to the cool night air. In a panic she wanted to struggle but her sluggish limbs failed to respond. The head of a man hovered over her vulnerable crotch, his features fuzzy, out of focus. Her dress dissolved, leaving her body naked, her nipples hardening from the chill.
He bent her knees, manipulating her limp body at will. Her sleep-laden eyes caught a glimpse of the stranger as he licked down her inner thigh. Short black hair. My love!
She wanted to touch him, feel his strong, muscled chest but her hands were frozen at her sides.
The light dissolved.
He appeared above her, his thick arms braced on either side of her. The shadows around his face faded, blurring his features. His cock crushed against her mound, grinding, then sliding down. She whimpered as it entered her, the girth stretching her open.
Phantom lips wrapped around her nipple, sucking delicately. The tender touch was so soft and her skin tingled as it tightened, hardening to a taut peak. She exhaled with joy as blond hair materialized with the body. Cole... He was so caring, compassionate. But she couldn't make out his face.
Paralyzed, she longed to feel them both.
She blinked, trying to clear her sight and Mark's features shifted, coming into focus. Thrusting into her body, his lip curled revealing rows of sharp teeth on a muzzle of dark fur.
He groaned, straining as he throbbed in her passage. Then he opened his yellow eyes and she stared back in bewilderment. His shaggy gray fur scratched against her flesh and his cock swelled inside her as he chuckled.
Two more wolves jumped onto the bed, snarling and licking their chops. She tried to scream but a strong jaw clamped around her throat, cutting off her airway.