by Sky Winters
The she-wolf lay down. Angelina said, “Thanks,” and reached for the injured paw. The cloth came away slowly, and she winced as she looked at the cut. The infection seemed to be lessening but the cut was deeper than Angelina had imagined.
She cleaned it quickly and then took a deep breath. “Mario, I need to stitch it. I got these little glue stitches, but she has to be very still.”
Mario lay down beside the she-wolf, wrapping one arm over her in a gesture that many dogs, domesticated and street, used to show they were protecting another. Angelina said, “You two are a cute couple, did I tell you that yesterday?”
She had been worried that Drake’s smell might put the two wolves off, but it didn’t seem to. After she had applied the stitches, Angelina just sat there on the sun-warmed earth, waiting for the stuff to dry and looking at Mario.
He had changed, seemingly overnight. That human expression was still in his eyes, but there was a new wildness in there, too.
“It won’t be long, will it? You’ll go all the way wild, and you will either forget me or you will just not remember me on purpose. It’s okay, I understand.”
Mario regarded her. Angelina frowned. “Mario, I can’t come back. Those stitches will hold and they dissolve on their own after a while, so it’s no biggie there. I think your mate here is going to be fine, and so are you but I… well, I have to figure out what to do.”
She sighed. “I can’t stay in the pack, and I can’t run from them either. I am going to have to fight. I don’t want to, and I came up with a hundred schemes to stay out of a battle, but you know what? I can sense one coming, and I’m scared. I think the fight that is coming is way bigger than just the one between me and Joaquin. I think there’s a shifter war coming, and Joaquin is part of it. I think he is setting us up to be killed off so he can gain control. I have to stop him; I just do not know how.”
Oh, but Drake could help her with that, if she just let him—or could trust him. Not that she could do either. He was a bear and her enemy. Even if the two of them were able to get past that—he was Magda’s son, and Magda had a huge hard on for power. No way was she going to let any son of hers go rogue and outside the laws of nature and shifter.
The sun beat down on her head, and Angelina sat there for a long time. She poured water for the wolves and they drank. Then, slowly, Mario got up and made a low sound in his throat. He gave Angelina one last look and then he began to walk away. The she-wolf stood, also looking at Angelina for a moment. Her eyes held pain as she set her paw on the earth but she stepped down anyway and then turned to follow Mario.
“Goddammit. If I believed in omens, that would be one.” Angelina cleaned up the mess, burying the cloth and shifting sand and rocky soil over the remains of the bloody and gross water she had used to clean the paw. “I mean, she’s following him no matter how painful. Great. Good for her. They are both wolves so…”
She blinked. That was not true. Mario was not full wolf. He was something else, something outside nature. The she-wolf had let him choose her anyway, either because she was weak and needed him or because she was alone and any mate was better than none, or because the two of them were both outcasts and alone and a pack of two was still stronger than a solitary creature.
She started walking. She had choices and they were clear.
Drake wanted her—and she hated Joaquin. She knew she could not truly trust either of them, but could she trust Drake enough to try to have something with him? If she did, she would be able to at least indulge her love of music. Drake would not have her out on a corner acting as lookout or slinging dope. He would not tell her music was a waste of her time and life. He would never tell her to shut up and learn her place because if they were together, there were no rules for whatever they created. What they would be together was something that had never been done before.
She got in the car, cranking down the windows to release some of the heat that had gotten trapped within it. The sun baked the trails, sending long shimmers of heat mirages up. Angelina rested her head in her hands.
Everyone would be out of the house. Now was the perfect time to grab her stuff and run. She had friends in Silver Lake. She had some money set aside. She had a need to go. Exiling herself was the only option, but that would guarantee she was hunted. Joaquin would think nothing of crossing territory lines if she did. That would absolutely start a war, and she didn’t need that on her hands or conscience.
“So where the hell do I go?”
The question hung in the still air. Angelina cranked the car, muttering, “First, I go get my stuff. Then I go somewhere, anywhere. Not Silver Lake, and not into tiger territory. That leaves plenty of places. I hear Torrance is nice this time of year.”
She headed down the road, not noticing the motorcycle hanging back behind her, its rider carefully tailing her as she headed east.
**
The house was quiet. Angelina killed the engine and stepped out, her eyes scanning the front of the house. It was actually three houses that had connecting breezeways. The pack owned most of the street, and they had always taken pride in it and the neighborhood back before Joaquin had come to power. Now it looked seedy and sad, and there were broken bottles near the curbs. The old folks who lived a few streets over were overwhelmed by the new drug dealers and the addicts, by the heavy traffic of cruising cars whose passengers were looking to score and the unsavory element of pimps and hookers looking to be close to the illegal action.
Uneasiness swept over her as she walked toward the door. She scented the air but there were too many scents, both old and new, for her to be able to tell if Joaquin was there or not.
She paused, listening hard, still trying to smell him out, but there’d been a lot of traffic in and out of the house, as usual. She could smell him, and it was a strong fresh smell, but she could not tell if it was hours or minutes old due to the scents mingled with his.
Her eyes went back to the driveways and street. His car—a huge restored ’66 Caddy, was nowhere in sight. Joaquin didn’t allow anyone to drive his baby so he had to be gone.
Her fingers turned the key into the lock. Angelina didn’t close the door. She stood there, still listening and sniffing. Nothing. The smell of garlic and onions, eggs, and tomato hung in the air. Someone had cooked breakfast at some point then. Her belly rumbled at those scents, reminding her she had not eaten since yesterday afternoon.
She dashed to her bedroom. She closed the door and grabbed a bag. There was little she wanted beyond her clothes and the few photos she had of her and her family. It took all of about ten minutes to toss her shoes, the ones that were still in good shape, her clothes, and those pictures into the bag. She grabbed the old acoustic guitar. Its strings, stirred by the small breeze she created when she picked it up, chimed softly, a light whisper of sound that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up and goose bumps break out all over her skin.
She turned, her eyes going to the closed door. Was she imagining things or had she heard something out there, a creaking floor or a hasty step?
She hesitated but heard nothing for a few long seconds. Her eyes went to the door handle. She had locked it automatically, and her heart hammered hard in her chest as she saw the knob turn in a slow but deliberate way, one that she was most decidedly not imagining.
Joaquin’s scent came clear. Her pulse slid upward, and she moved fast. She went to the window, which she had left unlocked the night before, and looked out. The backyard was empty. The faint snick of the lock turning came again. Joaquin was trying to get in, and he was deliberately trying to do it very quietly. What was more—he had hidden his car so she would not know he was there.
The onions and garlic had been meant to mask his smell. She knew that now. Angelina tossed her bags out and went out behind them. She grabbed her stuff, slinging the bags over her shoulders and gripping the old neck of the guitar in one hand as she ran around the side of the house, her feet kicking up small pebbles.
The front door bur
st open just as she reached her car. Joaquin came roaring out. His face was contorted with rage and even from where she stood, Angelina knew he was two seconds away from shifting right there in the street and be damned to anyone who might see.
A loud roar from the exhaust of a motorcycle cut the air. The bike raced closer, cutting across curbs and the driveway, cutting Joaquin off just as he headed for her and her car.
Angelina wrenched her door open and slid inside, slamming the door hard as the rider, whose face was hidden below a large helmet with a dark face guard, kicked out one long leg. Joaquin, unable to run forward without running right into the back end of the spinning bike, halted, but his shout was long and loud. Angelina could hear that cry over the roar of her car’s engine.
She hit the gas and reversed quickly. The bike kept slewing in circles. She did not know who that was but she hoped whoever it was had the good sense to get the hell out of there and fast.
Damn! She paused, wavering with indecision. She should make sure whoever that was didn’t get killed by a ticked-off wolf. Before she had time to fully form that thought, a new one hit.
At first, she had thought that the biker had lost control of the chrome beast and was just spinning wildly, but now she realized that spinning was an act of utter and total skill, and the man on that bike was using that skill to get between her and Joaquin!
“Thanks,” she muttered, slammed the car into drive, and hauled ass.
The bike stopped spinning. The rider cut a wide arc and ended up on the other side of the street, going too fast for Joaquin to catch up even if he shifted and ran wolf-like after the bike.
Angelina knew all the shortcuts out of the hood and she took them. She kept an eye on her rearview and saw the biker fall in behind her, the sun gleaming off the helmet and the heavy black leather jacket.
Drake.
It had to be Drake!
They careened out of the neighborhood and ended up in a side street that would dump them off an exit and on the crowded freeways just beyond. There was no time to stop. She had to keep moving and make sure that Drake—and she was positive that it was Drake now—did not get caught by Joaquin, who had obviously been about to either rape her to force her to be his mate or kill her.
If she had to bet, she would guess the former. Joaquin would do anything to prove how powerful he was, and he knew she did not want him. As long as she refused to mate with him, he could do nothing but if he got her with child, it was a whole different ballgame.
The bike roared up beside her car. Drake flipped the visor up and he shouted, “Take the third!”
The third exit would lead them to Beverly Hills or beyond, out to Sherman Oaks. Scared and worried now, and knowing Silver Lake was not an option at the moment, she nodded. Drake fell into traffic just ahead of her. The traffic slowed. A snarl was up there somewhere. Sweat trickled down her face as she considered the situation.
Joaquin might be following them, but in her car her scent was too narrow. There was too much traffic and all its stink to make it possible for him to track her that way.
Silver Lake was dangerous because she would be a wolf in bear territory. Drake might have given off his scent, and if Joaquin knew that the man on the bike was a bear that would be the first place he headed. He wouldn’t be able to scent track Drake either, not unless he went to ground and sniffed Drake’s house out, but shifting to track in wolf form was too risky even for Joaquin.
He had contacts with Magda though. Angelina knew that. Joaquin’s major supplier of heroin and other dope was the bikers that Magda ran from her house over in Silver Lake. Would Magda turn on her own son?
Probably—especially since he was not Alpha and his twin brother was. Damn, how had she forgotten that? Her father had told her that, last year. That one of the twins had been displaced as Alpha for the other. He had not known why, but he had worried about it. Now Angelina found herself wondering, too.
They reached the hills. Angelina’s hands were slick with sweat as she turned the wheel to follow Drake down a long and winding road that raced along a steep gorge before dropping out to a flatter and more level stretch that he took at a surprisingly fast speed.
He pulled up at the gates of a small house and hit a button. The gates opened, and he pulled in with her right on his heels.
Angelina got out of the car. “What the hell was that?”
Drake lifted the helmet off. Sweat made his hair stick to his head and his face glisten. He unzipped the jacket, pulling it off to reveal his broad and fit upper body. The bike sat between his legs, held their by the sheer strength of his lower body and a wave of heat crashed over her yet again. Her mouth went dry. Goddamn, that was so sexy. Him, the bike, the sweat, the stubble on his jaw, the piercing gaze—all of it.
Drake leaned closer, cutting off all thought but not the lust. The lust just intensified. A little bead of sweat hung in the tiny little hollow of his throat, begging to be licked away. Her fists clenched, and her stomach filled with butterflies trying to wing their way out.
“That was me saving your ass. I saw him coming down that little hall between the houses, and I knew it was him. I decided to circle the block, see if you came back out. When you didn’t, I rode a little farther up and waited. I was going to give you a half a minute more when I saw you come running around the back with all your stuff and figured you must have outrun him. I also figured he was going to come out next, so I decided to stall him so you could bolt.”
“Thanks.” She rubbed her arms up and down her arms. Now that she was not in present danger, the adrenaline died out, leaving her tired and limp.
“You hungry?”
Her eyes went to the house they were parked in front of. “Are we breaking into this house?”
“Yeah, do you mind?”
“Only if we get caught.”
His lips canted upward. “There’s that.”
“I’d rather not go to prison. You know, all things considered.”
“I can see where you could disrupt the hell out of the general population.”
The joking made her relax, her muscles loosen and the tension ooze away from her neck and shoulders. “Ditto. For real, if we are about to engage in some B&E, you had better hope there’s food in there.”
“There is. It belongs to my bass player, Pete.”
Her eyebrows raised. “Oh?”
“Yeah, getting a rich kid in your band’s sort of the new trend.”
Just then, the door opened and a scrawny guy with dark brown hair and a sallow face appeared. “What’s up, dude?”
“Not much; just thought I’d check in with you and introduce you to someone. She’s a hell of a singer.”
Was he kidding? “I’m not. I mean I’m a singer but I’m not…” She glared at Drake, who just grinned back at her.
Pete said, “Okay then.”
Drake said, “Dude, we’re starving.”
“I got some steaks. I was about to toss one on the grill and it would be no biggie to add a couple more.” Pete jerked his head toward the door.
The house was a post and beam thing with long wide windows and designer furniture. The pool was right outside the back door, and Pete led them that way, making a brief stop at the kitchen to grab some steaks from the fridge.
They stepped out into an outdoor kitchen that would have made a gourmet chef green with envy, but Angelina was more interested in the thick and marbled meat that Pete laid on the gas grill than wondering if that counters were the granite they seemed to be.
Pete finished laying the steaks out and added a few potatoes to the grill then pointed the way to the fridge that held some really good wine and beer. Drake seemed to know the way pretty well. He took out a bottle of red, uncorked it and poured three glasses.
“Thanks.” Their fingers met as Angelina made to take the glass he offered to her. She turned her face down quickly so he wouldn’t see the naked desire playing out in her eyes. She needed him to not know how she felt. She had to figure out
what to do next. She did not need the crazy emotions and physical attraction Drake kept bringing up in her.
“Welcome.” Pete stretched out on a chair and asked, “So you sing?”
“I do.” The words were reluctant. Her fingers curled around the stem of the glass. The sun lay thick and heavy on her head and shoulders, and she turned her face up to it.
Pete asked, “You any good?”
“Man, you should hear her. She can play rhythm, too.”
Drake sure was pushing hard—wasn’t he?
“We tried it, like me and him, but I don’t think it will work,” she said.
Pete said, “Oh. Shit. That is too damn bad. I don’t know what it is about Drake, but he seems to run people off left and right for some reason. No idea why—he’s a good dude but he scares folks or something.”
Her eyes met Drake’s. His held a troubled expression. The wine warmed as her fingers moved up to cup the glass. “I get that. Sometimes people are jerks.”
Or they sensed the difference and got scared—or mean. Sometimes both.
There was something Drake’s eyes that triggered a feeling of kinship. He was running away, too. He didn’t want to be a part of his pack. He wanted a life filled with music and normalcy. So did she. But they were different and always would be. They could never escape that, no matter how hard they tried.
The food was delicious, and she was starving. After the meal was over, they went inside. Pete had a whole room dedicated as a music space and Angelina took one look at all the gear and went to go get her guitar.
I’ll just play with them today, but that’s not a promise to be in the band. She settled onto a low sofa with the guitar over her legs.
Drake wrote down the lyrics and the chords to a song. “Can you just strum along? Don’t worry about trying to figure out a pattern just yet, just do the chords on the time and sing the words?”
“Sure.” Angelina looked down at the paper and nodded. “I need a capo though. I suck at the B minor chord.”
He laughed. “I hate that chord. I always capo the third and play it with the G, C, and so forth.”