Leader Of The Pack

by Karen McInerney

  Something about the way he said it sent delicious feelings rippling through me. “Honestly?”

  “Honestly,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because it is,” he said, and looked away.

  A tension hung in the air, and I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Finally, I broke it. “Are you coming with me?” I asked softly.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Considering our families’ history, I think it would be better if I stayed here.”

  “I’ll meet you in the lobby then,” I said.

  Before I turned to head for the elevator, he gave me one last warning. “Tell him they’re going to subject him to the Fehmic Court

  ,” he said. “Tell him they must come quickly, if they come at all.” Something about the look in his eyes sent a pulse of heat through me—and a ripple of fear.

  “Got it,” I said, and pressed the up button on the elevator, which dinged and slid open a moment later. When the doors shut behind me, I sagged against the elevator wall. It had been a pretty big night, and it wasn’t over yet.

  I knew as soon as the elevator doors opened that something was wrong. Everything looked perfectly normal—the floral carpet, the wooden doors, an abandoned room service tray—but something was different. Something was wrong.

  I approached Georges’s door with caution, sniffing for clues as to what might await me. But someone had recently swabbed down the area with Lysol, which put me at a major disadvantage, although I thought I picked up the thread of a familiar scent.

  Taking a deep breath, I raised my hand to knock. If you survived the CPA exam, you can survive anything, I told myself, though it didn’t do quite as much for my courage as I would have liked. My knuckles had barely touched the wood when the door flew open, and two werewolves launched themselves at me.

  The change ripped through me automatically; the bigger werewolf, whose teeth were on my neck, lost his grip as my body transformed. I took advantage of their surprise to bolt down the hallway toward the stairwell door.

  The only problem was, I didn’t have the thumbs required to turn the knob.

  Since I had no other choice, I wheeled around to face my attackers, who were already barreling down the hallway toward me. They were large, dark, and smelled like pleather. Blood was thick in the air, too—Georges’s, probably, I realized—but even that couldn’t knock out the overpowering scent of synthetic textile.

  And the acrid smell of my own fear.

  As I struggled to disentangle myself from my jeans, the bigger one launched himself at my head, sharp teeth bared in a death’s-head grin. I managed to duck out of his way, but the second werewolf was ready for me. He darted forward, mouth open, going for the kill. I backpedaled, but not in time; his teeth grazed my neck, and I could feel the gush of hot blood on my fur. Tom, I thought. I need you!

  I stumbled down the hall, trying to escape the onslaught of tooth and claw, hoping I could get to Georges’s room and shut the door. I didn’t know what I’d do then—maybe call animal control and let them deal with it—but all I could think of right now was getting a big chunk of solid wood between me and Elena’s pleather boys.

  I was a few feet from the door—and relative safety—when a set of teeth sank into my tail, making me howl in pain. I whipped around, snapping at the wolf behind me, but he hung on, muzzle bloody from his first attack, eyes gleaming, waiting for his friend to come and finish me off. I tried pulling away, but his teeth dug in deeper, sending waves of agony through me. I struggled to think through the pain. Could I slip loose by transforming back to human form? It was a nice idea, but with the amount of adrenaline running through my system, changing into a human would be about as easy as changing into a camel right about now.

  And I was out of time, anyway. The larger wolf advanced on me again, staring at my throat. As he crouched for the final pounce, I thought, I’m sorry, Dad—I tried—and closed my eyes, waiting for the pain to begin.

  But it didn’t.

  There was the ding of a small bell, and all three of us whipped around to face the elevator, whose doors were already sliding open. Thank God, I thought. I never dreamed I’d be thrilled to have a human catch me in wolf form at the Driskill Hotel. Now, however, I could think of few things that would delight me more.

  Except for what did happen. Which was that a huge golden wolf leaped out of the elevator and launched himself at the werewolf on my tail.

  The pleather boy on my tail released me, turning to face what amounted to a very large kink in the general plan to dismember me. But while Tom had the smaller one under control, I still had to deal with Boris. Or Dudley. It was hard to tell which was which.

  As Tom shook the tail-biting werewolf around like a dead chicken, the bigger of the pair charged me, teeth bared and directed at my throat. I jerked to the right, but he was right there with me; and with my jeans still tangled between my legs, I was slower than usual. As he barreled toward me, time seemed to slow down. I’m going to die on the fourth floor of the Driskill Hotel.

  But I couldn’t. Not until I rescued my father.

  Just before the werewolf’s teeth clamped down on my neck, I rolled to the right. He skidded to a stop on the carpet, jaws closing on empty air.

  I scrambled to rip off the rest of my jeans, freeing my limbs. With preternatural speed, the werewolf whirled and lunged for my throat again, but this time I was ready for him. I reared up on my hind legs, dodging him just in time. Then, as he shot under me, I snapped at his massive, muscular neck, burying my jaws in his wiry, pleather-flavored hide.

  The werewolf howled in dismay, shaking hard to dislodge me, but I held on tight, despite the awful taste flooding my mouth. He bent his head around, snapping at my hindquarters, but I just bit down harder, until a gush of blood spurted out, splattering the wall and darkening the carpet under my front paws. I was vaguely aware of a door opening and then slamming shut somewhere, and the thought you need to get out of here fast floated through my mind. But that little detached thought just hovered around the edge of my thoughts, like an irritating gnat. My entire being was focused on the burly werewolf beneath me—and on staying alive.

  My jaw ached as I clamped down, struggling to keep my hold on him, but I didn’t let go, even when he reeled sideways, slamming me against the wall. If I let go, I knew, I’d be dead.

  Finally, just when I thought I couldn’t hold him for another second—not only was my jaw aching, but he tasted just awful—the burly body grew limp in my jaws. I let the wolf drop to the floor, but refused to release him—if he was playing possum, I’d be toast. Only when Tom padded over to me, dragging the other pleather boy by the scruff of the neck, did I dare loosen my grip.

  Tom’s golden eyes were inscrutable, but he jerked his head toward Georges’s open door. He’d seen the door open, too; we both knew it was only a matter of time before hotel security started sniffing around. The day had been long enough without ending it in the Town Lake animal shelter’s version of doggie death row.

  I started to pull the werewolf in my jaws toward Georges’s door, but Tom stopped me with a short bark.

  As I lifted a tuft of fur that functioned as one of my eyebrows, he dropped the smaller werewolf and sprinted into the hotel room, returning with a blanket clamped between his teeth; within seconds he had rolled the limp body of the larger werewolf onto it, and I followed suit with the second one. He dropped the remains of our clothing on top of the furry bodies, and together we dragged the whole kit and caboodle through the doorway. Boris’s head took a nasty hit on the doorframe, I’m afraid, but since he had just tried to rip my throat out a few minutes earlier, I didn’t feel too awful about it. I had just nudged the door closed behind us when I heard the ding of the elevator, and voices in the hallway.

  I turned back to Tom, and what I saw took my breath away.

  Tom was back in human form, stark naked, and looking even more perfect than I could have imagined. Even with the still-healing wound on his thigh. But his gorgeo
usness wasn’t the only surprise—and the other was far less pleasant. Sprawled across the bed, a rictus of pain on his waxen face, was the body of Georges. Blood stained the flowered bedspread, and a wooden stake sprouted from his chest.

  “You need to transform,” Tom said, heading for the bathroom as he spoke. “When they come to the door, we’ll both be in towels. We didn’t hear anything—we were in the shower.”

  I dipped my head and padded toward the bathroom, where I waited until Tom left, a towel wrapped around his trim middle, before nudging the door closed and calming myself down enough to let the change course through me. Once I was in possession of opposable thumbs again, I rinsed the blood off my face and neck, splashed some water on my hair, and grabbed a towel.

  “What do we do about these two?” I asked when I stepped back into the bedroom a minute later.

  Tom’s eyes raked me up and down, making my skin feel like it was on fire, but all he said was, “We’ll put them in the bathtub. Out of sight.”

  “Are they … dead?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” he said ominously. “But I’m afraid your friend Georges didn’t make it. I think he should go first. If you’ll take the feet, I’ll take the arms.”

  I did as Tom asked—what choice did I have?—but it was a gruesome process. The stake was entangled in the bed-springs, so we had to rock him back and forth a few times to get him loose. By the time we had levered Georges into the bathtub and piled the pleather boys on top of him, I needed a new towel, since mine was slipping off and covered in werewolf blood.

  Tom left the bathroom for a moment as I exchanged my towel for a fresh one, and despite the pile of dead or wounded werewolves just inches away, I found myself very conscious of the fact that we were almost naked—and in a hotel room together. Alone, if you didn’t count the unconscious werewolves. When I closed the bathroom door behind me a moment later, Tom was covering up the mess on the bed with pillows. I found myself staring at the dusting of golden hairs on his bronze skin, just above the towel. Then I realized he was watching me, and I jerked my eyes northward, to his face.

  “Thanks for your help out there,” I said. “Why did you get the blanket?”

  “So the blood trail wouldn’t lead here,” he said.

  “Good thinking,” I said. My eyes strayed from Tom’s tan, lithe body to the bloodstained bed. Poor Georges. “Why do you think they killed him?” I asked.

  “Why do you think?” he asked.

  “To keep him from getting in touch with Paris?” I thought about it for a moment. “And then they ambushed me, to eliminate all other contacts …”

  “That would be my assessment,” he said.

  The smell of blood and werewolf made my stomach roil. “I feel awful—like it’s my fault.”

  “What could you have done to change it, Sophie?”

  “Maybe if I’d told him to call the Paris pack … told him that Luc was in trouble …”

  “Do you think he’d be alive if you had?” Tom asked, moving closer to me. Despite the rather awful circumstances, I felt my hormones buzzing at his nearness; particularly when he put a warm hand on my shoulder. It was just a touch, but it was incredibly erotic.

  “He would have gone to the Howl, confronted the pack, and the result would have been the same,” I said, trying to control my voice—and my feelings, which were running haywire. “They would have killed him on the spot rather than let him get in touch with their enemies.”

  As a loud voice sounded from the hallway, he lifted his hand, breaking the spell. I glanced at the remains of my clothes, then back at Tom’s golden eyes. “We’re trapped, aren’t we?” I said.

  Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door. My eyes leapt to the door. “Now what?” I whispered.

  “Answer it,” he said softly. “Tell them you didn’t hear anything—we were showering together. Ask what happened.”

  A second knock came. “Did I get all the blood off?” I whispered.

  “You’re fine,” he said. “Just answer it.”

  Heart pounding, I tightened the towel around me and walked to the door, peeking through the peephole. Then I opened the door.

  A chubby security guard stood there, stance wide. His nametag identified him as Alberto Sanchez. I peered behind him, a bit shocked to see the aftermath of our tussle. The hallway looked like an abattoir. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “That’s what we were hoping you could help us with, ma’am.”

  I blinked, trying to look perplexed. “What do you mean?”

  “We had a report that there were four dogs fighting in the hallway a little while ago. Did you see or hear anything?”

  “No,” I said. “But we, I mean, I was in the shower,” I said, reaching down to adjust my towel. Alberto’s eyes flicked down to my towel, and a slow blush suffused his chubby face. “One of the other guests said she saw them head toward your room.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, opening the door a little bit wider and hoping we’d managed to cover all the blood. “As you can see, it’s just my boyfriend and me,” I said.

  The guard’s eyes took in the scene behind me: a rumpled bed, with Tom sitting at the end of it, wearing only a towel.

  “Howdy,” Tom said, adopting an atrocious Texas accent and waving cheerfully. “Everything okay?”

  “Just doing a little investigation, sir,” the guard said. “There was a bit of a dogfight in the hallway a few minutes ago. Did you see or hear anything?”

  Tom shook his head and gave Alberto a salacious grin. “No, but since we were, uh, occupied in the shower …”

  The guard’s face flushed a little bit at the sight of the disheveled bed and the near-naked man sitting on it.

  “This is awful,” I said. “Wild dogs in the hallway? What if I’d stepped out to get a drink or something? I could have been savaged! Where’s the manager?” I added recklessly, figuring the best defense was a good offense. “Maybe I need to ask for a discount on the bill!”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you two,” the guard said. “If you think of anything, please let security know.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “And please let the manager know we will be speaking to him shortly.” Which was not in fact the truth—if anything, the manager would be wanting to speak with me once he’d seen what had happened to his rather expensive mattress. Not to mention the dead body in the bathtub.

  “Of course, ma’am. Thank you for your help.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, shutting the door firmly.

  “Nicely done,” Tom said from his spot at the end of the bed.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But what do we do now?”

  “I don’t know,” Tom said, a sly smile on his face. He patted the bed beside him. “I can think of a way to pass the time until the pleather boys wake up.”

  I surveyed the bloodstained sheets, which were only partially covered by pillows. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Only partially, I’m afraid. Unfortunately, unless you can magically produce a wardrobe, our options are limited.”

  “I could call Lindsey,” I said, then realized that since we were both essentially naked in a hotel room, it might be tough to explain. “Although that might not be the best idea, come to think of it. And besides, what about the pleather boys?” I asked, glancing at the bathroom door.

  “We’ll question them when they come to,” he said. “If there’s enough left of them to question, that is. You sure did sink your teeth into the big one.”

  “Was that Boris? Or Dudley? Whoever it was, he tasted awful. I still have the taste in my mouth.”

  “Boris,” he said, getting up to peer out of the peephole.

  “They’ve got the cleaning crew at work, at least. Which means they’re not calling in the police.”

  “Thank God for that,” I said, examining the remains of my clothes. My jeans were relatively intact, as was my bra, but my wrap top was stained with blood and torn into two pieces. My jacket had suf
fered some major damage, too. “I’m going to look like hell walking out of here, though.”

  “I left everything I had in the elevator,” Tom pointed out.

  “Oh, no, Tom. How are we going to get you out of here?” I considered the problem for a moment. “I guess I could pretend you were my dog, but after what just happened…” I stifled a smile at the thought of taking Tom the werewolf for a walk. “It’s a shame. You’d look good in a collar,” I said.

  “Too bad you’ll never get to see it,” he said, standing up and smoothing out his towel. I tried hard not to stare, but there was something so magnetic about him, it was almost impossible. “Georges’s whole wardrobe is here, but based on his size, I doubt they’ll fit. Same with Elena’s boys—they’re large, but not tall.”

  Think, Sophie. We needed to get out of here, and without drawing attention to ourselves. We were surrounded by men’s clothes, but unless Tom was comfortable strolling through downtown in the equivalent of capri pants, it wasn’t going to work. If only we were in Luc’s room …

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “That door over there”—I pointed to a door on the side wall—“I’ll bet it connects to my father’s room. You wouldn’t fit into Georges’s clothes, but you and my father are pretty close in size.”

  I walked over and tried the door. It was unlocked. I opened it gingerly, relieved to pick up the faint scent of my father. But the relief was quickly followed by a sinking feeling. This might be one of the last times I ever smelled him …

  I pushed those thoughts out of my mind and headed for the closet, Tom behind me. “Will these work?” I asked, pulling a pair of jeans off of a hanger. He hung up his jeans? Don’t worry about it now, Sophie. “They may be a little tight, I’m afraid.”

  “Your father does favor snug-fitting clothing, doesn’t he?” Tom said.

  “They’ll be better than pleather pants, at least. Why don’t you get changed here, and I’ll try to get myself together in the other room.”

  “Seems a shame, really.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, you know. A beautiful hotel room, a beautiful woman …”