The Devil's a Werewolf

by Thalia Eames

  Before the EMTs stormed in, Daz had done everything he could to ensure the Graces’ second in command would live. The act of shifting and something about the way it rebuilt their bodies tended to help the healing process along. Maybe a certain magic came along with it, Daz had never been sure. Still, he’d talked Larkin through two rounds of shifting from man to boar and back. Larkin had been stronger after each round. Daz huffed out a humorless laugh. He’d actually told Larkin he’d never get to pay him back if he didn’t live. That had been the only thing that got the battered to the edge of death wild boar riled up enough to fight for life.

  Sheriff Stan had come by to find out what had happened. Daz had said he couldn’t remember, which was true. The sheriff then talked to the few Graces who were conscious, but none of them cared to admit they’d been beaten in their own territory by a lone wolverine, much less that they did indeed run a chop shop. Daz might’ve laughed at the fact he’d been spared a stint in jail because his victims were criminals with too much pride. He might’ve laughed if the guilt weren’t frozen in his chest.

  He never got a chance to smile, though. Pa Bailey called while he was in the waiting room at the hospital to let Daz know the clock tower had stopped and Chaplin had worked himself up into a seizure out of pure upset.

  Things fall apart. And when they did Daz always seemed to be at the center of the storm. Shortly after, he’d made his way into the tower to try and fix it since he couldn’t do a damn thing for Chaplin or the men and women he’d splattered across their garage.

  Nothing he tried worked. The more he failed to fix the clock, the more agitated he became and the more he realized he wasn’t worth shit. He’d been given a shot at redemption with Jules. He’d been allowed to touch a goddess after so many years of isolation and he’d fucked it up. Again.

  A beast like him should never be allowed near someone made of pure light like his Blue. He’d called her his Blue Fairy once. He hadn’t been wrong. The magic of her touch had transformed him, had calmed the rage and the need to dominate by any means. He couldn’t stay by her side like this. Not with the Tahvili family so heavy in his DNA. Even Sheriff Stan had realized it. At the hospital the wild boar prime had thanked him for working to keep LuPines off the Tahvili radar but the sheriff had also asked if having him around wasn’t the same as having a Tahvili presence.

  Daz couldn’t argue with the honesty. And the taint in his blood highlighted his personal truth. His rage could take over at any time. He’d lost it with Larkin once. Had nearly lost it during his standoff with Willie Mae Grace’s wild boar. Jules made him feel things that mixed him up inside. He couldn’t risk that side of himself going wild. Rage was a corrosive presence that could eat away at the town, his friends and the woman he so badly wanted to make happy. Now what the fuck was he supposed to do about it?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jules dropped the accelerator on her car and pushed it past the speed limit. She’d gotten a visit from Stan a half hour ago explaining what went down at the Grace “garage”, as Stan called it. She’d been relieved to learn Daz wasn’t at risk of being arrested for taking out so many of the Graces. Willie Mae didn’t even want blood because Daz had saved the lives he’d almost taken. Willie Mae accepted the fact shifter life could be brutal, but Stan still worried about Daz. Daz didn’t seem to accept that fact. He’d asked Daz if he was a Tahvili or a Warren and he thought Daz had taken that question the wrong way. Perhaps had even come up with the wrong answer.

  She’d texted Daz to find out where he’d gone but he’d texted back and asked for time alone. Jules couldn’t deny him but she’d told him if he didn’t come home by tomorrow she’d look for him no matter what. And she would too.

  Jules turned her steering wheel left and then made a quick right as she entered the outskirts of town. She blamed herself. If she hadn’t broken down because of the fan attacks or Larkin using the tweets to hurt her, Daz wouldn’t have lost control. She needed to stop hiding from the situation and start dealing with it. To that end she’d launched a Twitter account before leaving the house. Under her new Twitter handle Jules had sent out the one and only tweet she’d ever write.

  Crown Jules @thestarslut

  He’s mine, bitches. Deal with it. @DazDaze #StarSlut

  Now she had a score to settle with Mazzie Kitts who Jules had learned not only had started the recent round of Jules bashing, she had poured a cocktail over Jules’s head back in the Adam Cross days. That bitch really had a mad on for her and Jules couldn’t understand why. But she’d find out.

  As soon as Jules finished that thought she passed a car Stan had warned her to look out for. A white Honda Accord with a purplish-blue custom design on the side. Stan had been thinking of Jules’s safety when he’d described the car. He’d probably rethink that by the time he found out what Jules had in mind.

  Whipping into a tight U-turn Jules barreled down on Mazzie and Mohawk’s getaway car. They thought they were going to get out of town. Well, they were, but Jules was going to have her say first.

  Dropping the accelerator to the floor again, Jules raced past the two women. When she’d gone about a half mile past them, she broke into another U-turn, got back into oncoming traffic and drove straight toward her tormentors. Mazzie, the driver, must’ve seen Jules when they passed each other because she started to speed up too.

  “C’mon, bitch. Please test me,” Jules said. Her black Dodge Challenger ate the road like candy. The thrill of the ride made Jules more reckless. No way would she back out of this particular game of chicken. She’d see it through even if it meant a head-on collision. The speeding cars were about to hit the point of no return. Jules flicked her seat belt fast. Mentally, she prepared her body to go limp to minimize the damage. Tensing up would cause more broken bones when the two cars smashed into each other.

  A countdown began in Jules head. 10, 9, 8, 7… She could see Mazzie’s face now. Fear contorted her usually pretty features. 6, 5, 4… At the last minute Mazzie screamed and jammed the wheel as far to the left as it would go. The Accord leapt off the road, digging tire tread gashes through the field flanking the road. Jules checked her rearview. The Accord had come to a stop, no real harm done. She pumped her fist and maneuvered into her third U-turn.

  She’d suspected their game of chicken wouldn’t make it as far as a crash. No one who stooped to internet bullying or bullying of any kind was brave. Those traits alone had made for a high probability Mazzie would back out of their standoff.

  Jules drove off road into the field, pulling up behind Mazzie’s car. She got out like a boss. Opening the driver’s side door, Jules reached in and dragged Mazzie out. The woman tried to jerk away but Jules had righteous anger on her side. She wanted Daz to know he didn’t have to fly into rages because of her weakness. She knew how to stand strong.

  “Why do you hate me so much, Mazzie, huh?” Jules asked, needing to know.

  The woman tossed her pale blue tresses, which she’d dyed to frazzled oblivion. “Because they love you and I don’t get it. You’re some tiny little Asian slut. Probably running around doing whatever they want. Like a maid or something.”

  Those words sucked all the anger out of Jules. She shook her head to make sure she understood what she’d heard. “Say that again?”

  Mazzie snorted. “See, you don’t even speak English. Just some exotic little Chinese ho. Fucking all the stars with your dragon lady pussy.”

  Yup, Jules had heard exactly what she thought she had. She let Mazzie go. “Ahh, so you’re a racist.” She punctuated the word “racist” with a bounce of her head and an up-thrust of her pointer finger. “That’s sooo uninteresting.”

  Jules tugged on her ear. “By the way, Mohawk over there is brown.” Jules reiterated when Mohawk got out of the car. “Your friend is brown.” Off of Mazzie’s clueless look, Jules gave up. “Let’s end this here. I’m suing you for a whole litany of things. Litany means
a series of many in case you were wondering,” Jules said.

  Mazzie continued to stare blankly. Jules explained the rest at a third-grade reading level. “When you were on the internet you were somewhat anonymous, but when you came here to my town, the one I was born in, because while I’m Filipino by heritage I’m American by birth. And so are my parents and their parents, by the way. Yeah, so when you came into my town and checked into a hotel, you gave your address and legal name along with your credit card, Allison. Allison Beecham. Now I’ve got you, because I have something you don’t. Friends. Real ones. So get yourself a lawyer because I’m going to sue you for defamation too.” Jules headed back to her car, but not before she did the proper Southern thing and said goodbye. “Get on down the road. And take good care now, ya’ hear?”

  Later that night Jules waited in bed. Around midnight someone knocked on her door. Daz pushed through it a second later. He stood there, guilt etched all over him. Lifting the light throw covering the bed, Jules waited for him. The release of the breath he held filled the room. Crossing over to the bed, he climbed in beside her. Jules lay down, tapping her chest. When Daz lifted up to rest his head on her breasts, she wrapped him up in her arms, stroking his hair until he fell asleep.

  Two Days Later

  Daz and Jules pulled into the library parking lot in the Hellion. There weren’t many spaces left. When Louise Dumbarton invited them over for a “conference”, they hadn’t known it would be so heavily attended, especially by the press.

  For the last two days, Jules had rarely let Daz’s hand go. She had a bad feeling, as though he was slipping through her fingers. The silences that used to feel so companionable now held unspoken fears. And guilt seemed to form a widening barrier between them.

  Yet something inside them made them hold onto each other’s hands and they entered the library auditorium with their fingers enfolded into each other’s. As the parking lot’s fullness had forecasted, it was standing room only inside the auditorium. Lucky for Daz and Jules a pair of seats had been reserved for them near the front.

  “Do you know what this is about?” Jules whispered to Daz out of the corner of her mouth.

  “No,” he answered. “But the vibe in here is more press conference than conference.”

  Jules had to agree. There were so many cameras and recorders in the room. As she scanned more closely she noticed a few top-tier media outlets. The Peacock, an Eye, and FOX logos decorated mic flags. The letters TMZ also caught her attention. Her intuition blared a warning and it made her jumpy. She didn’t realize her leg began to bounce in anxiety until Daz rested his big hand on her knee.

  Jules covered his hand with hers and they turned their attention to the audience. A publicist Jules knew all too well walked out and made an announcement about a statement followed by limited questions. She stopped listening. Her gaze darted all over the room looking for the man who always followed opening remarks like this one from this publicist.

  He walked out to an uproar of the media, wearing distressed cigar-colored leather pants—his trademark—and an acid-etched T-shirt with a Union Jack across the entire front.

  Adam Cross, Rock God, Asshole.

  Over the years his hair had been deep garnet red, black, and platinum (for about four months). Today he let it go back to its natural ginger-gold, hanging in loose waves that danced just below his jawline as he prowled to the podium. Adam had a way about him, a kind of strut and growl that worked for rock stars. He wore it well.

  The strange thing was, while Jules clearly remembered how much she’d adored Adam, she couldn’t feel it in any tangible way anymore. Those feelings had faded to the extent she wondered if they ever truly existed, or if she’d dreamed her relationship with Adam up one night after getting drunk with her girls.

  She squeezed Daz’s hand. That couldn’t happen with Daz. He’d become so much a part of her that she’d be permanently maimed if she lost him. “You okay with this?” he asked, his deep voice and short beard tickling her ear.

  “Yeah, I remember what happened to break us up but I don’t remember him enough to hurt me,” she said. “Do you know what I mean?”

  Daz nodded. Adam began to speak.

  “I invited you all here today to clear something up. Six years ago I tried to write an essay on why young women shouldn’t be fooled by the swag of guys like me. I wanted to tell them to respect themselves enough to force all guys to respect them too. But that’s not what came out. Instead, I wrote some messy bullshit that victim blamed girls who got seduced by band guys.”

  He paused and the flashes picked up. After giving the room his rock star stare, a look that signaled big things were on the way, he said, “Notice I said I wrote that post.” A murmur went through the crowd. “At the time I blamed my then girlfriend, Juliana Perlas.” Adam pointed to her and Jules ducked her head, hiding it beneath Daz’s arm.

  “As you can see,” Adam said, “she’s still traumatized by the backlash she received from you guys.” He gave the media another pointed look. “And my fans.” He stared into a couple of cameras. “Juliana didn’t deserve that. She did nothing wrong. Hell, she tried to talk me out of posting that nonsense. Now, all these years later, my mistake and cowardice has caused her more problems. Fans have targeted her again as someone who ruins the lives of famous men.”

  Adam took a quick swig of water. “I can tell you guys, and I’m sure her current boyfriend, Daz Warren, would agree. It’s us famous guys who keep fucking up her life. So I’m begging all of you and all my fans, to back off of Jules. She’s a great girl who deserves your admiration a whole lot more than I do.”

  The media swelled with questions. Adam shook his head. “I know my publicist said I’d take questions but I’m going to end it here with this. I hope I’ll get a chance to write the essay I should have written six years ago and finish things out the right way.” He stood. “See you on tour.”

  Daz chuffed in amusement. “He’s grown up but he still knows how to spin a situation and a crowd in his favor.”

  “So. Very. True,” Jules said.

  Adam Cross has left the building, she thought as he strutted off, entering one of the meeting rooms behind the auditorium. As a geek, Jules had always loved the concept of the deus ex machina—the “god from the machine” who came out of nowhere to solve the unsolvable problem. But not once had she imagined that Adam Cross would live up to the “Rock God” part of his name as her very own deus ex machina, using his public capital to rescue her.

  Wow, Did That Really Happen? Part 2. She especially hadn’t predicted the publicist who’d fucked her over way back when to come over and slip her a note with Adam’s signature across the bottom:

  After all this time I can’t look you in the face. Maybe one day soon? I like this little town of yours and I need a place to write and record the next record. So…in the mean and between, I fucked up, Jewel. And I’m sorry. I hope today starts to make up for what I cost you.

  -AdamX

  “He really has grown up, Daz,” Jules said. She threw her arms around the neck of the man who made her glad Adam Cross, Rock God… (perhaps, strictly “Rock God” now) had screwed her over. She might’ve stayed with him and never have found Daz. If that had happened she’d be the one who had fucked up.

  Outside of the library they saw a spectacular-looking man in a dark bespoke suit with dark skin and stunning aquamarine eyes. The man’s relaxed stance and proximity to the Hellion weren’t the only things that made Jules pause. Other than his eye color and slight height advantage, the man looked a lot like Daz.

  When she glanced at him to gauge his response, she noticed Daz shook his head at the man. The aquamarine gaze held steady, as though in a battle of wills with Daz. And then he moved off with the same animal grace she’d noticed when she’d first met her man.

  “Do you know him?” she asked, slipping her hand back inside Dashiell’s. Her fea
rs fired up again.

  “No, Blue. I don’t know him at all,” Daz breathed out the words.

  She nodded. He never lied to her. Whoever that man was, whatever his reasons were for seeking Dashiell out, he remained an unknown. And that scared Jules more than anything else.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The anti-fans backed off and rolled out of town after the Cross press conference went viral. Then the thunderstorms rolled in, and the rain went to work on Daz. Something about rainfall brought him clarity of mind. This time the storms washed away the fairytale cloud he’d been living under with Jules, and he knew what he had to do. Whether he wanted to or not.

  Now that Averdeen Manor was back in pristine condition, Daz spent most of his days in the clock tower. Unlike the rain and its effect on his clarity of mind, nothing he tried got the clockwork running again. Perhaps his biggest mistake had been in rushing the restoration before he fully understood the purpose of all the pieces.

  Daz began to see the tower as his personal metaphor. He couldn’t make all the pieces fit in his life either. An image of the man standing by his Hellion after the press conference came to mind. It hadn’t taken a DNA test for Daz to recognize the man as kin. The other wolverine looked enough like him for there to be no faking stupid and ignoring the truth. The Tahvilis had discovered LuPines. And Larkin hadn’t been the one to tell them. The boar shifter had stopped by and told Daz that flat out. And the bastard would’ve crowed about it if he’d done it. Daz figured the family had seen him on his YouTube channel—uncanny how his channel provided therapy for him, solving some problems while creating others. Then again, maybe the Tahvili family had been looking for him all along and he’d just stayed on the go too much for them to lock him down.