by Reine, SM
It was getting dark quickly. There was a patch over the hills where stars weren’t emerging—blocked by the new moon. Her muscles warmed.
“Five minutes,” she said. The pack spread out, but Rylie stayed on her knees beside Abel. She lowered her voice so only he could hear her speak. “There’s one more thing you need to know. The Union is here.”
“What?”
She shushed him, glancing around to make sure nobody was listening. The closest people were Bekah and Levi, and they were deep in conversation.
“Pagan said that Cain would come for her. Seth thought we needed help—and I agreed. When would be a better time to attack than when everyone in the sanctuary is a mindless animal?”
“When they don’t have teeth and claws that can turn a hunter into French fries?” Abel groaned and pressed a hand to his injured side. “The bandages…”
His skin rippled, like something was moving under the surface.
It was time.
“Hang in there,” she murmured, removing the gauze as his body began to distort.
The wound looked worse than it had on the night he received it. Parts of it had healed, but what remained looked like it was rotting. Even tiny bits of silver had a way of festering in a wolf’s blood.
Abel caught her hand at his side. “Don’t let me hurt you.”
“What?”
“It’s going to be bad tonight. I can feel it.” And, as if on cue, he gritted his teeth, his back bowed, and his grip tightened until her bones ached. He took several deep breaths before speaking again. “If I’m going to be bad—don’t come near me. Don’t let me hurt you.”
“You would never hurt me,” she said, trying to focus her energy to calm his transformation. But it couldn’t touch him. Not a silver-poisoned wolf.
There was a pop deep inside his body, muffled by muscle. Abel’s cry split the night.
“I can’t make it easier on you.” Her eyes burned. “I’m so sorry.”
Abel’s body twisted with the transformation. It was hard to see what was happening to him in the dark, moonless night, but Rylie had been through it enough times to know what he was going through.
His teeth would loosen and fall out. His fingernails would follow. Then his hair.
His spine would grind against itself as new vertebrae grew, extending into a tail. And judging by the quiet popcorn sounds and Abel’s piercing shriek, it was happening fast.
His knees would break—she could already hear the cracking—and switch sides.
Rylie tried to focus on sending her energy out to the pack at large, controlling the transformations of the twenty other wolves she could help, but it was hard when Abel was in so much pain and spraying blood on the grass.
He flipped onto his side, curled into a ball of half-human, half-wolf flesh that writhed and rolled.
His eyes caught hers. There was no man in them—only beast.
And it was hungry.
“Run,” he whispered.
“No, Abel…”
His shoulders popped and slid into place as he climbed to his paws. Glistening claws dug into the soil.
Abel’s scream shattered the night.
“Run!”
FIVE
Rescued
Seth sat on a box in the cellar with his rifle across his knees. The howling of the pack was muffled by several feet of earth and a heavy door, and he wondered which of them was Abel.
“They’ll be all right,” Gwyn said, patting his shoulder. “The pack’s got Rylie. She’s tougher than you think.”
He found a smile somewhere inside of him, but it was weak and brief. “I think she’s pretty damn strong, so that says a lot.”
They were positioned at the front of the room, watching the door in case someone—or something—tried to enter. Yasir and Stripes sat in the back with Pagan, a battery, and jumper cables. There were marks on her papery skin where the Union men had shocked her.
She wasn’t laughing anymore.
Pagan stared at her captors with fury in her black eyes, but her mouth was shut. She didn’t talk back to them the way she talked back to Rylie.
Stripes stared at the ceiling, knuckles white on his gun. “Those noises.” He shivered. “It’s like that night on the mountain again.”
Yasir checked his rifle’s safety, and checked it again, like something could have possibly happened to it in the three seconds since his last inspection. “Don’t think about it.” He glanced at Pagan. “How do you feel?”
She sneered. “Like a car with a dead battery. What do you think I feel like?”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“I already told you, I can’t turn into a werewolf!” On the last word, her skin flickered like a dying light bulb. For an instant, her bones were visible underneath.
“Megaira,” the commander said.
Seth blinked. “What?”
“I think she’s a megaira. Maybe half-megaira, half-human. It’s a demon that feeds on human aggression. That’s why you can lock her in a cellar for three days without food and she doesn’t die. But electrical current…” Yasir nudged the battery with the toe of his shoe. “It interrupts infernal energy.”
Pagan rolled onto her side. Her hair fell over her face, but Seth could still see her white teeth when she smiled. “Give the boy a diploma. He figured it out.”
“A demon?” Gwyn asked, eyebrows lifting toward her hairline. She tipped her hat back with a knuckle. “Say that again, because I’m thinking I heard you wrong.”
“Creatures from Hell,” Stripes muttered, shooting a sideways look at Pagan.
“There aren’t many of them in this part of America,” Yasir said, speaking over his companion. “They stick to major urban areas. Out here? Not enough humans, not enough food.”
“You know, I don’t believe in God,” Gwyn said.
Yasir barked a mirthless laugh. “Neither do I.”
The door rattled.
Seth stood up, putting the gun to his shoulder. Gwyn took position at his side.
The door rattled again.
“You are all in deep trouble,” Pagan said.
Stripes kicked her. “Shut up!”
The door rattled a third time, and Seth heard the chains sliding against the handles. He raised his voice. “Whoever is there, I’m warning you—anyone who comes through that door tonight is getting shot.”
“It’s not one of your dogs out there,” Pagan said. Her eyes glimmered darkly, and blood stained her teeth. “Cain’s come for me.”
The single light bulb popped, showering sparks on them.
Darkness filled the cellar, so black and complete that Seth couldn’t see his own hands.
The door slammed open.
The air split with the sound of gunshots as four firearms were simultaneously discharged. Cloth shifted and metal clacked.
A grunt. A meaty slam, like a body hitting the floor.
Someone shouted—someone male. Stripes?
Seth spun, searching for something to shoot. He couldn’t tell the difference between Gwyneth and Yasir, much less an intruder.
Another gunshot. Someone screamed.
“Lights—we need lights!” Gwyn shouted.
Seth fumbled, and his hand fell on a camping lantern on the shelf. It took three tries to flip the switch.
A brilliant LED glow flooded the cellar. Two other people were standing nearby—Gwyn and the commander.
And there was a body on the ground.
Seth kicked over the dark shape on the floor, and Stripes rolled onto his back. His eyes were empty.
Dead.
“Where’s Pagan?” Gwyn asked.
Yasir was already running up the steps. Seth followed, gun hugged to his chest.
Even without a moon, it was so much brighter on the surface than it had been in the cellar. A dozen dark shapes tracked over the hills, each of them the size of a small pony. Werewolves.
And somewhere among them, Pagan and Cain.
The werewolves were usually playful under Rylie’s control, but they were scattered and wild that night. They chased each other through the hills with piercing howls.
The entire pack was out of control, which meant their Alpha was too focused on something else to notice them.
Abel must have been worse than Seth expected.
Was that his brother’s dark form among the trees? Seth cupped his hands around his mouth. “Abel! Rylie!”
The wolf didn’t react.
Seth prepared to shout again, but the smell of something burning stopped him. It was a cloying, powerful scent. If his human nose could pick it up, then something had to be burning hot.
He glanced at the ranch house. No hint of smoke.
“Seth!” Yasir yelled. He was on the opposite hill, and his silhouette was lit on the edges with a dancing red glow.
Swearing under his breath, Seth ran to his side.
The barn was on fire.
Flames leaped in the shattered windows, licking at the walls and turning them black. Sparks lit in the dry grass.
“Cain,” Yasir said. “It must have been Cain.” Seth pulled out his cell phone, starting to dial the emergency number, but Yasir grabbed his arm. “Wait! We can’t have firefighters come to a ranch filled with werewolves.”
He was right.
Seth groaned and scrubbed his hands over his hair. “Okay. There’s a pump on the other side of the barn. I’ll get the hose.”
“I don’t think we can stop this fire,” Yasir said.
“No, but we can stop it from spreading. Come on. We have to move fast.”
Seth abandoned the hunt for Pagan and rushed to save what little of the barn he could.
Rylie ran, and Abel chased.
She flew through the long grass, her feet thudded against the soil, and the nighttime wind blasted hair back from her face. Her chest heaved as her arms pumped. Her legs burned.
And behind her, the wolf was growling.
She could run for hours, if she had to—but Abel was faster. She could hear him gaining.
Rylie needed somewhere safe to transform so she could stand a chance against him. But he was snapping at her heels.
A wolf scurried past in the corner of her vision. He was dark brown with streaks of gold.
“Vanthe!” she yelled, and the word was whipped away on the wind. “Help!”
He wheeled around, looping wide through the hills. Rylie jumped behind a tree to put the trunk between her and the sleek black monster that was Abel.
The werewolves crashed together.
A yelp.
She glanced around the tree long enough to see that Abel had raked his long, silver claws down Vanthe’s side. He wasn’t slowed by the other wolf—not for long.
Rylie shut her eyes and began to change.
It was hard to focus with her heart beating a panicked tattoo against her ribs. She focused on fur and claws, and heat swept over her skin.
Too slow.
Another howl, and paws were pounding on the ground again. Abel rounded the tree.
“Oh no,” Rylie whispered.
She turned to run again. But her legs were reversing, her bones were growing, and her coordination was shot.
Abel plowed into her back, knocking them both to the ground.
She threw up an arm to protect her face, even as it blossomed with fur. Abel’s teeth clamped on her skin, snapping just inches from her face. Blood splattered onto her chest.
“No!” she cried. “Abel!”
He twisted his head back and forth, nearly wrenching the arm from its socket. It felt like her arm was being crushed under a car.
Her spine popped and twisted. Her muzzle grew, blurry in the bottom edge of her vision.
Rylie brought her mutating legs between them and shoved her feet into Abel’s chest, launching him off of her body.
He flew into the air. Hit the tree with a yelp.
She flipped onto all fours and finished the change as quickly as she could. Rylie took a short inventory of her body—paws, tail, fur in all the right places—and faced Abel as he got to his feet.
Drool hung from his bottom jaw, which was half-scarred, just like his human face. But his sharp eyes focused on her.
She issued a growl, trying to warn him: I am Alpha, Do not fight me.
He stepped forward anyway.
There was no play-bowing or impudent wriggling in the dirt. Abel was completely serious and completely out of his mind. There was no man in him. Only beast and raw instinct.
A real werewolf.
“Abel! Rylie!”
A human voice echoing over the hills—Seth’s voice.
Rylie’s head snapped up, and she searched the horizon for her boyfriend. He was by the ranch house. What was he doing out of the cellar? Did that mean Pagan had changed?
She didn’t have long to consider the implications. Abel heard Seth’s voice too, and he growled.
Sibling rivalry could get awfully ugly when one of them was a monster.
Rylie snapped at his side, drawing his attention back to her.
He struck. Her vision blurred and doubled, and they rolled down the hill together. Rylie twisted her head around, searching for any part of Abel to bite, trying to restrain him.
His teeth snapped on the ruff of fur at her neck. Her paws. Her muzzle.
The pressure of his jaws on her limbs drew forth the mind of Rylie’s wolf. She surrendered to it, letting instinct carry her away.
The wolf was a calming force—raw logic and cold anger.
And it could fight.
They bounced over rocks and slid to the shore of the pond. She flipped him over and bit his muzzle. The taste of blood flooded her tongue.
Her teeth ripped into his shoulder, pushing through the fur to tear at the vulnerable skin underneath.
He seized her back leg. She broke free, but only for an instant. Abel dived for another attack. She lowered her head and slammed it into his side.
The force of the impact threw him into the pond. Water slopped over the rocks.
He thrashed, growling and howling.
By the time he emerged from the pond, fur dripping with crimson-stained water, Rylie had the higher ground. But even with blood streaming down his face and flank, his eyes burned. Challenging her.
Abel jumped, and he slammed her into the rocks. His weight pressed against her shoulders. Forced her chest to the ground.
Jaws clamped tight on the back of her neck.
A sense of peace spread through Rylie—an acknowledgment of dominance. She sagged underneath him.
He growled and shook her, but it was gentler than before.
Someone was calling her name. Humans were somewhere on the other side of the property, searching for Rylie and Abel.
The wolf didn’t care. She didn’t acknowledge them.
She didn’t even notice when smoke rose over the hills.
Abel was dominant—Alpha. And she was at his mercy.
SIX
Abandon Ship
Rylie woke up at the furthest edge of the sanctuary, in the back corner where a barbed wire fence protected the farms beyond from an onslaught of werewolves.
And she was bleeding.
She rolled onto her back with a groan. Everywhere hurt. Her back, her legs, her head—it had been a long time since she had a headache.
There was no accompanying rush of healing fever. Just pain.
She sat up to look at herself in the blue light of dawn. Her body was a mess of scrapes and tears. How was that even possible?
Weirdly, the ache was kind of… good. Rylie had the kind of heavy, satiated feeling she enjoyed after devouring a deer or cow as a wolf. But there were no prey animals on the ranch, and she obviously hadn’t escaped. It made no sense.
Someone else groaned.
Rylie twisted to find Abel laying a few feet away. He look
ed a lot like she did—naked and bleeding. But he hadn’t woken up yet.
“Oh my God,” she said, crawling to his side.
Abel had healed the silver injury. There was a neat scar on his side where he had been shot. But his shoulder was torn open, and the skin was ragged all the way down his chest. A ring of puncture marks on his arms formed the shape of teeth.
Wounds inflicted by the Alpha didn’t heal as quickly as those delivered by another wolf. Which meant that Rylie must have ripped him open the night before.
She squeezed her eyes shut and struggled to remember what had happened, but nothing came to mind. Rylie had the impression of body clashing against body, a struggle in the grass, the rush of adrenaline—but that was it.
A fight between them would have explained what happened to Abel. But what had happened to her?
Abel roused enough to walk on his own, and they staggered toward the house together. Climbing up and down the swelling hills was much harder on two tired legs than four.
When they crested the hill by the pond, Rylie saw the barn. She gasped.
The skeletal remains of a building stood where the barn should have been. Ribs of iron jutted from the earth, and broken red wood was scattered everywhere, like something had exploded. The surrounding grass was scorched and wet.
Her mind tried to make sense of the debris. Was that the TV? Had those been beds?
It didn’t matter. Everything was destroyed.
Seth was still wetting down charred embers with Gwyn and Yasir’s help, but he dropped the hose when he saw them.
“Rylie!”
He scrambled to the top of the hill, and she sagged in his arms. He was covered in ash.
“What happened?” she asked, clutching at his shirt. His hands cupped her elbows to keep her on her feet.
“Pagan escaped,” Seth said, addressing Abel as well. “Cain came for her. They burned the barn.
Even after seeing it for herself, hearing the words from Seth made Rylie feel like she had been punched in the chest.
They had spent months converting the barn into a living space for the pack. She spent so many long hours picking out furniture for the bedrooms, laying carpet, getting into paint fights with Seth—and it was gone. All gone.
“Survivors?” Abel asked.