Thrown to the Wolves (A Black Treaty Novel Book 1)

by Pixie Unger

  Mac considered this. “I don’t really like the phrase infected, but we are all lupers, yes.”

  “Lupers. You sound like a bad Bruce Willis movie.”

  Mac bristled, “We had that name first. For hundreds of years before the movie came out. It is the same word origin as lunar.”

  “Ok.” Sarah wouldn’t even look at him. “But my point is, living with werewolves. What do I need to know?”

  Mac shrugged. “Nothing? I mean we’re still people. Umm… don’t panic if we play a little rougher than the guys you are used to. You will pick up the language in no time. Mostly we just run a garage and have a business building custom bikes for people. We make sure we are good enough to get business, but not high profile enough to get unnecessary attention.”

  He thought about it some more. “If there is anything specific you wanna know, just ask. I’m not good at subtle.”

  “If I piss you off, will you change into a monster and eat me?”

  Mac choked. Oh god. Get your mind out of the gutter, that is not what she means. Don’t be creepy, just answer the question. “Uh… I promise not to eat you. Unless you ask me to.” Fuck. Now she’s blushing. Ugh, she smells even better when she’s blushing. “Sorry. No. No one is going to eat you. You don’t smell like food.”

  “So, just normal people except you turn into wolf creatures during the full moon?”

  “No. Full moon doesn’t really make a difference. We can change when we want. My other shapes won’t make any trouble for you.”

  “Other shapes?” Sarah asked. “ As in more than one?”

  “Um.. Look you’ve just gotten a lot of information, maybe we should work up to the -”

  “Just tell me!”

  “Ok. We technically have three shapes. Human looking, is the obvious one. The next shape, that’s like a half shift, wolfman thing. We call that combat form when we are fighting. I think they used to call it War Dog form all the time, but that changed with the Treaty. It’s the classic werewolf legend shape that you saw. Teeth and claws and… well,” Mac coughed.

  He stopped and watched something happening near the door. Sarah looked over her shoulder, but didn’t see anything.

  “What’s the third one?” she asked. Mac turned his attention back to her but just looked confused. “The third form,” she explained. “You said you have three forms. What’s the third one?”

  “Oh! That’s full shift form. We also call it stealth form. You basically look like a big ass dog of some description. It’s called stealth form because you can sneak around and no one expects the stray dog to be wearing clothes. Or spying on people.” He grinned. “It answers the question what happened to the werewolf’s pants.”

  “When we hunt or when -” Mac stopped. He should really let Nicole handle this next bit, but now she was looking at him and she was going to ask and -

  “Or when what?”

  Mac looked out the window. It was better than seeing her face right now. “Um… You should talk to Nicole, maybe -”

  “Tell me. It can’t be worse than I am imagining right now.”

  Mac sighed, “Wanna bet?” He cringed as the smell of her fear flooded the room. “We change, involuntarily, during sex. For lupers, if our heart rate goes up and the adrenaline starts really flowing, we change into the combat form… um… that is the... uh… wolfman form. If your partner isn’t infected… There is a… chance you might eat them. Humies - that is other people - smell like food when you’re changed. That’s a big part of why Ulfurinn - girl werewolves - are so valued. You will never smell like food or prey.”

  He looked over his shoulder at her. She was appalled. “Look, we don’t mess about with that. No one told Sean that. Not point blank. After he was turned he thought the ‘Don’t go home to your family’ thing was his alpha being a control freak. So he went home to his wife Lori.” Mac paused and rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the windowsill. “She didn’t make it, and Sean was sent to stay with us because he was the prime suspect in her death. Not because of the Luper thing, but because he was a vet and they thought he had a PTSD episode and killed her.”

  “It was an accident, but not that kind of an accident.” Mac concluded.

  “Sean killed his wife?”

  “Yeah. He doesn’t like to talk about it. It was almost twenty years ago and he hasn’t forgiven himself. He loved her more than anything.”

  When Mac turned around, Sarah was sitting on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, staring at nothing. Molly was on the bed at her feet. The smell of her fear and uncertainty flooding off of her. Fuck. He messed up and broke an Ulfurinn. He was supposed to take care of her. Of his Ulfurinn.

  His Ulfurinn.

  And just like that, something clicked. Mac knew exactly what he needed to do. He projected calm and confident and, more importantly, started dumping the pheromones that went along with that.

  “It will be OK, Sarah. We will take care of you. We will help you figure this out.”

  Mac may have sounded calm, but his mind was running in circles like a mouse trapped in a jar. After a moment that went on way too long, Sarah gave a little sob and asked, “Can you come sit with me?”

  Mac approached with the same caution he would give to any scared and wild creature. He sat carefully on the bed, made sure he was close but not actually touching her. Sarah wiggled around and lay down, her head in his lap, her arms around her dog.

  “It will be OK.” Mac repeated, feeling quite a bit more confident this time.

  September 10th

  There were classes. Sarah was completely floored by that. If you had asked her to describe what becoming a werewolf would involve, she wouldn’t have said therapy and history classes.

  They were taught by Nicole or the other women in the building. The men around the place seemed to be mostly decorative. Mac was around too. He was good at saying the right thing or recognizing when she was overwhelmed and making sure she had some space. He was also her fact checker.

  If this was a cult, they certainly had all drank the kool aid. Whenever she tried to fact check the stuff she was learning in class, Mac would always provide the same answer. Often using the exact same words.

  Finally, one night at supper Sarah demanded, “Is there some sort of handbook you forgot to give me? Because how is it that everyone knows all of this?”

  Mac grinned at her. “No handbook, but there is the Black Treaty. Everyone has to memorize it before they get turned loose on the world. Well, the lupers do anyway.”

  She frowned as she asked, “That’s the thing that says the guys have to treat women really well because you are so much bigger than us, right?”

  Mac pursed his lips bobbed his head slightly as he was thinking. “Not all women. Although Marv has some thoughts about how all women should be included, the Treaty only covers Ulfurinn. It’s up to us to protect you. It is supposed to be pretty easy. Once a luper is bonded to an Ulfurinn, it’s pretty hard for him to do anything to hurt her. Or to let her get hurt.” He paused to eat a bite of dinner, then gestured with his fork as he added, “The problem is that not everyone bonds.”

  “You make it sound like ducklings,” Sarah pointed out before eating a bite of mashed fairly bland mashed potatoes. Then she rolled her eyes, “Or some soulmate thing.”

  Mac laughed. “Nope. Not magic. Look, we get kinda territorial. That includes our Ulfurinn. Protecting what is ours. That’s why the treaty is so important. If we aren’t careful, there is the potential to stop thinking of Ulfurinn as people. To start thinking of them as property. That isn’t a healthy thing for anyone in the pack.” He thought some more as he chewed a green bean held with his fingers rather than his fork. “The organization helps with that. They are kind of like… werewolf social services. They watch out for cases of abuse. They help us relocate and get new identities. And they help make sure that humies - um - regular people keep thinking we are a myth.”

  Sarah took a deep breath and blew it out before scrubbing her f
ace with her hands. “There are too many weird new words to learn! Ulfurinn, luper; do we really call people humies now?”

  The guys just shrugged. Mac gave her an awkward grin, “Not when they can hear us.”

  Sarah finished her dinner in silence but afterwards Mac offered her his arm. She just gave him a look. He stopped. “Want to go for a walk? It’s a nice night.”

  Sarah looked hard at his face for a moment. “Sure.” She still didn’t take his arm but she did say, “you are going to get so sick of having me around.”

  “I doubt it.”

  They walked in silence for a while. Then she finally just asked, “So if there is the alpha, then we all have to do what he says?”

  Mac shifted uncomfortably for a moment, “Um. That is sort of how it works for the Lupers. But the Ulfurinn generally exist outside of the pack structure. The alpha can give directions, but he can’t make her obey them.” He thought about that for a moment, “Or stay. He can’t make her stay. If you aren’t happy, they will find you a new home.”

  “Hmm,” Sarah said, trying to be non committal. She realized she had a lot to think about. They had made it most of the way around the block when she next spoke. “So.. there’s an alpha and a second and then… everyone else. And the Ulfurinn is sort of separate. Uh… where do you fit in?”

  Mac just laughed, “I’m part of everyone else.”

  September 14th

  Marv was looking at a calendar. They were supposed to bring Sarah home tomorrow. They needed Mac back, but this was shitty timing on adding an Ulfurinn to the mix. Mabon was the week after, and a new Ulfurinn on site was practically ringing the dinner bell.

  Marv was painfully aware that the world was a very holey place. As he understood it, the word came first and spelling came later. There were all sorts of religious sites all over the world that marked where the world was thin. Where… things could come through from… other places. Angels and demons and trolls and elves and, quite possibly, werewolves were just the labels humies gave to the creatures that fell through one reality into another.

  Anytime you have a cluster of holy days, it is pretty much a warning that the world will be a bit more dangerous during them. People were safer huddled together. After a while, they forgot why they were huddling and just remembered the warmth.

  Marv’s patch attracted what he called elves. Who knew what they called themselves. They stole children. Skinny bastards, allergic to iron, hadn’t taken a single kid since Marv took over the territory. Getting an Ulfurinn settled into the pack was important. But so was this.

  The bastards weren’t a threat if you could keep your head straight and not let them hypnotize you. Thin, ethereal critters. Bones like a bird’s. Tasted like chicken.

  Maybe shouldn’t mention that last bit to the newbie.

  A lot of the stuff you found coming through was just plain weird. It wouldn’t surprise him, at this point, to learn that there had been an annual invasion of egg laying rabbits until the humie’s hunted them to extinction.

  There wasn’t ever a good time to introduce a new person, but you had to be extra careful with an Ulfurinn. Didn’t wanna spook the girl. This was gonna take some planning. And a giant gift basket for Nicole, who had not only explained things to Sarah, but was also teaching her history and language for the last week.

  He shoulda started getting things ready for her sooner, but he wasn’t sure she was gonna make it. They had set up one of the bedrooms for her. This house was so old, it had an attic full of antiques. Marv had no idea what her style was, but, for now, what she was getting was an Edwardian bedroom suite. Desk, high boy dresser, free standing wardrobe with a slightly rippled mirror, old bedstead that came out of storage painted white. They had hauled it down to the shop and used the sandblaster to strip the lead paint off of it. Then they repainted it with automotive paint to match her car, glossy green with a slight gold iridescence. It didn’t really match the burled walnut furniture, but it would have to do. As would the mail order mattress they bought off the internet.

  Craig had the weird ass idea not to paint the bed knobs. He had seasoned them with a torch instead and masked them off during painting. Marv thought he was off his rocker at the time, but the matte black contrasted nicely with the shiny green. They had set her up in the house’s master bedroom. It had a private bathroom, which was also turn of the previous century, But they had scrubbed more than 100 years of gunk off the marble floor and redone the grout. They knew someone who had re-enamelled the tub. The toilet had been updated and the sink faucet. It would just have to do.

  It was a shame they hadn’t been able to get the fireplace working. There should still be time before freeze up. If she needed it. The boys generally didn’t bother turning up the heat. They weren’t home during the day and there was always the fur coat option at night. As long as the pipes didn’t freeze, they were fine. This year might be different.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t care that their pack was expanding, it was just that… Well, who knew if she was gonna stay. No point in getting attached if she was gonna up and leave. What was a girl with a degree in environmental studies gonna do in Bellmont? Besides, he had responsibilities. He couldn’t just let things slide because she was moving in.

  Hell, she looked fifteen years younger than him, easy, and maybe as much as twenty. It wasn’t like when he was humie. Back then that sort of thing was not just accepted but expected.

  She seemed to like Mac, maybe she would stay ‘cuz of him. Marv was under no illusion that he would get droit du seigneur like some of the pack leaders insisted on. That was some serious bullshit right there, no matter what fancy french name you dressed it up in. They said stuff like “biological imperative” and “maintaining alpha status.” Bull! Shit!

  Marv hadn’t been happy about being raped by the bastard who bit him. Why in seven hells would he do that to anyone else?

  Chapter 5

  1335 - The Black Treaty

  After many years of negotiation, Jonathan Black implemented a Code of Conduct for the Dogs Of War. First and foremost the treaty was an extensive guide for the appropriate treatment of Ulfurinn. This included the death penalty for anyone found harming an Ulfurinn. This was not just the responsibility of the pack who had the Ulfurinn, but of any who found an Ulfurinn being harmed. Provisions were made for Ulfurinn to choose their own packs and change pack dynamics to protect weaker members who may be the favourites of the Ulfurinn.

  Also covered was the Track and Kill Clause. It had been discovered that Dogs of War were created when Humies were bitten hard enough to break their bones. If they survived the infection and the primitive medicine of the Humies, they would turn. Each pack was responsible for any Humies they bit and everyone was responsible for making sure all Dogs of War followed the treaty.

  Lastly, Jonathon advocated for the name Luper to replace their Dogs of War title, drawing the name from stories of the founding of Rome. They were more than just dogs and they were capable of more than just war.

  September 18th

  They had set up a room for her. That was nice, but weird. The furniture was old. The bedding was new. There was a desk set up with a stack of colouring books and fancy pens that she would have drooled over but not bought for herself. But it was the carpet that was giving her some problems.

  It was a hide, and that wasn’t what made her uncomfortable. The weird bit was the thing was easily 9x12, plus six legs, two tails and two necks. You could see where the creature's pattern had run down two backbones. The only way to make any sense of it was if it had been four hides seamed together. Sarah had looked for the seam a number of times, but she couldn’t find it. Plus she had no idea what creature was white and fluffy with orange zebra stripes.

  Her door locked with an antique brass key. Everyone has a room on the second floor, but it seemed like she was the only one who ever came up here. She had no idea where the others slept, but she was the only one she could smell in the hallways.

  That was ne
w too. Suddenly the world was like everyone was wearing too much perfume and she could tell who had been in a room in the last twenty-four hours. So far she was spending a lot of time alone in her room with Molly trying to adapt to all the smells.

  The guys didn’t smell bad, just overwhelming.

  And they all had this kind of dude-bro thing going on. Maybe they were slightly less insecure than she would expect to go along with that title, but it was all beer and football and hunting and engine repair. It didn’t actually leave much room for her to join the conversations.

  The bottom line was, Sarah was lonely. They guys had their lives organized and she just felt in the way. She was pretty sure Mac would spend time with her, if she asked. But she would have to interrupt the steady stream of conversation and ask for the attention. She could see where they were trying, sort of. They always invited her to watch sports with them after supper.

  It was just that they never asked if there was anything she wanted to watch.

  And she was pretty sure there wasn’t any overlap between her Netflix queue and theirs, anyway.

  Sarah had never been a sports fan, but she was starting to think she was going to have to learn about football.

  Or get used to reading in her room. She wondered if she was allowed to ask them to get wifi. Or her own groceries. She missed fresh vegetables.

  She had been given all new IDs when she left the clinic, including a bank card and a Visa card. But she hadn't tried them out since she had no idea how she would pay off the balance.

  Maybe Marv would hire her to do oil changes in the garage. It wasn't hard, she had done all her own engine maintenance for ten years. While she could understand not letting her work on other people's cars, an oil change wasn't exactly difficult. It was easier on almost anything than it was on her car.

  ----

  “What? Why the hell would you wanna do that?” Marv was looking at her like she had mortally offended him.