Wolf Trap

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  Why? Because against all warnings to the contrary, he was imagining those warm fingers moving up through the hair on his chest with an agonizing slowness. He was imagining how those hands would feel on his shoulders, his waist, his bare thighs.

  Man! The woman he lusted for was in the operating room being patched up, and he was out here losing his mind. He didn’t know her, not even her name. There was nothing to do here now except help the cops.

  Frustrated, Parker turned from the window, finished buttoning his borrowed blue shirt and made a pact with himself to think more clearly in the morning.

  He’d have to be more focused tomorrow, since the moon would be full when darkness fell the next night. He might not be able to help anyone after that. Not even himself.

  Chapter 5

  The humid air brought it all back: the feelings, the unusual shift in shape that had occurred, the fight with the scumbags, the surprise of finding the new wolf. Add to that seeing the creature go after those gang guys, plus the virulent scent of wolf surrounding the walled compound…Thinking of those things, Parker had to try hard to remain civil to the men in uniform who were accompanying him on this sojourn.

  But information went two ways.

  “Detective,” he began as they walked between the rows of trees stretching from the road to the distant wall where he’d been perched not long ago. “Do you know who owns the house bordering this land? The big Southern one behind the walls?”

  “Judge Landau and his family have a place there. It could be the one you’re describing,” Wilson replied.

  This information stunned Parker. Landau? The name was familiar to everyone in Miami, even to a more recent transplant like himself. James Landau was not only a well-respected judge, but a member of every committee and nonprofit organization in the state. He was a philanthropist with old money, and lots of it. His wife incarnated Miami charm at its best, so the newscasts and tabloids suggested. His son was the deputy district attorney. The Landaus had it all—looks, money, prestige, power.

  Parker grimaced. If the Landaus’ estate was behind those stone walls, then the family had a dirty little secret that TV, magazines and the newspaper media hadn’t mentioned. Realization of that secret settled over Parker like a big black net. Either the Landaus themselves weren’t altogether human, or they fraternized with nonhumans on their property.

  The realization of those possibilities stirred confusion in him. Whatever way it went down from here, the Landaus were now people of interest in his book. They might be public figures who weren’t afraid to show themselves often—at art-gallery openings and the opera—yet odd things were taking place at home, behind those gates. Near which an innocent young woman had been accosted.

  “Do you know them?” Parker asked Wilson, keeping his rising anxiety in check. “The Landaus?”

  “I met the judge recently,” the detective replied. “He helped me out of a jam.”

  If Parker asked any more questions about that family, Wilson might become suspicious of him having been so near their home. A judge of Landau’s standing had to have weirdos after him at least half the time. Maybe those bastards who had harmed the girl had been on their way to Landau’s place, and her untimely presence had been too tempting to ignore.

  Way too much supposition and no proof made the ideas seem silly in afterthought. Parker Madison was a physician, not Sherlock Holmes. And Detective Wilson seemed competent enough. Parker had to keep a low profile, due to his own secrets. It would be best to keep from connecting the dots, even when his intuition screamed foul play.

  Settle down. Get this over with.

  The night had grown darker, with the moon partially obscured by vaporous clouds. Miami had a weather system all of its own when humidity rolled in; the trees virtually dripped with moisture. People sweated a lot, and got cranky if their air conditioners went on the blink.

  Parker’s sweat was dampening the good detective’s baby-blue shirt, and it served him right for making Parker return here. At the moment, though, he wanted to do anything but mosey. Given the option, he’d sprint right back to that stone wall and see what went on inside a judge’s mansion. He had to be alone to do that. The sooner he got this investigation over with, the better.

  “This is it,” he announced, halting. Scenting dried blood as easily as if it were fresh, Parker scanned the area. The hair at the nape of his neck didn’t rise. The earlier chills stayed away. He tried not to picture the woman here, curled up and in pain. His beast offered no further shove of acknowledgment.

  “The idiots ran off that way,” he said, pointing. “Most of them headed east.”

  Four cops were already searching the scene with powerful flashlights, several beams sweeping back and forth like miniature searchlights. Detective Wilson bent his knees and crouched low to the ground, touching a patch of grass darkened by the girl’s blood. He plucked a handful and raised those blades to his nose.

  “No purse. No ID. No shoes. It’s an enigma, Doctor,” Wilson said. “What a terrible way to learn a lesson about the precariousness of venturing too far from the crowd.”

  “Can you tell anything by that?” He gestured to the bloody grass.

  “Not really, other than it’s here because of a recent injury, and still somewhat damp. You knelt here beside her?” Wilson pointed to boot prints that wouldn’t have been visible to most people, even in daylight. He then rubbed his fingers together to clean them. “And you were out here for the air,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you come here often for air and exercise, Doctor?”

  “Frequently, yes.”

  “Why here?”

  “For the exact same reasons nobody else should. It’s quiet, peaceful and far enough from crowds.”

  Wilson looked up at him. “Peaceful?”

  “Until now.”

  “Well, I hear you on that.” The detective straightened, took out a handkerchief and cleaned his fingers more thoroughly. “Thanks for showing us the spot. You can leave if you want to. We’ll have a team go over the area. They’ll light it up and have a look around.”

  Parker nodded, waited.

  “You’ll go home?” Wilson asked.

  “Do I have to check in with you, Detective?”

  “No. Just wondering. You look tired, and there’re all those bruises to take care of.”

  “I’m afraid I know exactly what to do about the bruises,” Parker said.

  “I’m sure you do.” Wilson smiled wearily. “If we have further questions, we can reach you at the hospital?”

  “I’ll be there tomorrow, first thing,” Parker told him, turning on his heels. No use remaining out here with the place lit up like Disney World. What self-respecting werewolf would hang around that?

  “I’ll have your shirt cleaned and returned to you,” he added, wondering if these cops might follow him, and knowing he couldn’t chance a return to the Landau compound in case they did. That damned wall would just have to wait. The only option left to him would be to return the next night, as planned, in order to find out why such a respected public figure’s grounds reeked of something that might be wolf. Parker’s quest had become so very interesting, so very quickly.

  Tomorrow night, he’d slice through the dark with the moon to guide him. He would be able to perceive those little nuances he might have missed before.

  “’Night,” Parker said, walking away from the flashlights and the disruption in search of darkness. He stopped twice to glance over his shoulder, but no one followed.

  “Very well, then. They won’t see this.”

  He upped his pace from a walk to a jog, then punched the jog up faster. In minutes he was far from the scene and relishing the breeze on his face, a relief for overheated skin.

  Nothing about this night had been usual. He already knew it was impossible to escape the questions sticking to him like shadows. Questions such as could he do it again? Shift shape early? And what made him so into that girl?

  More stuf
f to make his current complex life even more complicated. More things to file away in the annals of the strange.

  Yanked off his pace by another realization, Parker slowed. He hadn’t been the only werewolf who had changed without the lure of the full moon. There was another. He’d seen it. Had felt the other’s presence as if it were a piece of himself that had been bitten off and spat out elsewhere. Similar, but not the same.

  All this had happened too close to Judge Landau’s stone wall to be coincidence. The place smelled like wolf, and Parker had seen one. Had the pale wolf come from the Landau property, taunted by the scent of the girl’s blood, just as Parker had been?

  Uninvited chills returned and he spun around abruptly. Waves of gooseflesh surged up the back of his neck. His skin pulsed with static electricity and his heart gave one audible thump after another.

  “Strange night,” Parker muttered, fearing it was already too late to hold himself back. He checked out his hands by raising them to his face. His knuckles were visibly throbbing, as if the claws wanted a comeback in spite of his decision to restrain the beast.

  What was he reacting to now?

  Intrigued, Parker searched the dark, found nothing. No werewolf, nor any sight or scent of another person. Still, more chills came.

  Certain that he must have missed something, Parker scanned the area more closely. He found what he’d been looking for on the ground, not far from his feet. A shoe. One black ankle boot, smelling not of hot pavement or dirt, but like citrus and flower petals. Like her. The woman he’d held in his arms. The woman with those big green eyes.

  This time when his claws burst through his flesh, rising long and stiff in the humid air, it seemed to Parker a lot like a sexual metaphor. Yet another promise.

  Staring at his knuckles as if they were harbingers of doom, Parker took off—not for home, but in the direction of the hospital.

  Chapter 6

  Chloe worked to open her eyes, wondering all the while if she should. She sensed nothing but darkness beyond her closed lids. Her body no longer felt like hers. It was as though she had become someone much weightier.

  She knew she was on her back, but couldn’t feel her limbs. Panic surfaced at the realization, the way it did when her arms fell asleep under her pillow at night. She hated numbness of any kind. She hated it now. She’d only recently gotten over the emptiness, the numbness, that followed her parents’ death. She had just begun to feel, and wanted to experience everything, the good and the bad, all the emotions, all the pain. At least pain proved that she was alive.

  She felt a strangling sensation when she groped for a breath. Coughing, choking, struggling to move, she managed to open her eyes at last, and she stared about wildly, helplessly, trying to remember where she was. She heard breathing. Hers? No, these were deep breaths, while she continued to gasp for air. Someone else was here, out of sight.

  Who’s there?

  Nothing but more breathing.

  Who’s there?

  Warmth touched her face, and Chloe shuddered. Her heart overcame its sluggishness and started to race, surpassing panic levels for a whole new realm of reaction. Out of the darkness came an escalating beeping noise, electronic sound getting louder as she listened. Then sudden silence.

  Chloe tried hard to focus her eyes. She noticed a glow to one side, a panel of lights that jump-started her memories. She tried to call out, coughed again, gagged. She felt so very cold.

  The pinpoint of warmth returned, on her forehead, as if she had willed it back. Yes, she felt that! On her face!

  Help me!

  An unexpected reply came out of the darkness.

  “You’re in a hospital,” a smooth masculine voice explained. “You’ve been in and out of surgery to repair some wounds. You’re going to be okay.”

  The voice brought an immediate feeling of calm, as if it, too, were woven of warmth. Both it and the presence behind it filled the room like another subtle layer of atmosphere. Even without being able to make out the man’s outline, Chloe felt strangely comforted, and knew who this had to be.

  Him. Her brave rescuer hadn’t gone away. She had willed him to stay and he had.

  “I’m going to remove a tube from your throat,” he told her, his tone a husky collaboration of richness and raw nerve. “It will be uncomfortable.”

  Chloe wished she could see him, see his face.

  “When I do,” he continued, “try not to talk. I’ll spray something inside of your mouth to help soothe the irritation.”

  Yes. Please hurry. I feel trapped.

  “Promise me you won’t speak,” he said.

  I promise.

  “Are you ready?”

  Yes!

  A long, hard length of something began to slide outward, out of her, feeling like a petrified snake that she’d half swallowed. The need to gag returned, and fast on its heels, more panic.

  “It’s all right,” the voice told her. “Almost there now. Relax your throat. Try.”

  Chloe did as he asked, and felt the end of the tube rub her dry, cracked lips. She coughed again and wanted to retch. Then the man’s fingers opened her mouth and she smelled antiseptic spray. A sudden coolness quickly coated the irritation. Better. The urge to gag died away. Moisture spilled from her eyes at the potency of the spray, and the man beside her wiped the wetness away with a gentle action incongruent for so large a presence.

  “Sleep,” he directed. “Sleep now.”

  Can’t. She had promised not to talk. This was unfair. She wanted to know who this man was. She needed to thank him for helping her and for remaining by her side.

  “I’ll be here.” His tone slid over her, almost exotic in richness, but the thought of so much darkness brought the panic back, and along with it memories of the men chasing her, the sound of bones snapping. Was that why she didn’t feel her limbs? Had her arms been broken? Her legs?

  “Sleep,” the voice repeated.

  Afraid to sleep. Don’t want to close my eyes.

  “I’ll keep watch,” he whispered to her. “I’ll be here. No one can get to you. You’re safe.”

  She felt his breath on her forehead. He was close enough to touch, and he had made good on his prior promise.

  She was so very tired.

  Don’t want to sleep.

  “Close your eyes, little one.”

  The endearment he used caused some of her panic to ebb. Little one. She liked that from him, though, growing up, she had made an art form out of rebelling against all comments about her size. It wasn’t as if she were a true shrimp at five-foot-four, in heels. She was just small-boned.

  And her mind was wandering. Bad sign. Chloe blinked several times, thought, Let me see you!

  She felt the bed move as he either pressed his weight against it or sat down beside her. Heat radiated from this man with the wattage of a sunlamp, while she continued to shiver.

  Warm me, please.

  “You have a fever.” Her rescuer’s voice had dropped to a lower tone, yet he stayed, as if he had heard her plea. Chloe’s shivers calmed. The darkness got blacker as his wide body blocked out some of the peripheral glow.

  “Sleep,” he whispered. “Heal.”

  Trusting this man, whoever he was, Chloe felt more of her anxiety drain away. She’d take him at his word. She would be all right, and he would stay. She didn’t have to fear anything while he kept watch. He had saved her before. The numbness would be kept a bay with him there to protect her. Someone cared, even if temporarily. That meant a lot.

  Enveloped in the stranger’s warm aura, at peace having him beside her, Chloe allowed herself to drift off.

  Parker sat motionless, wondering how he could remain still with the baser parts of himself kicking and tumbling with desire to touch her again. Big reminder—his feelings of possession and protection weren’t logical. They were just another crazy new event for him and the beast he harbored.

  He would not allow himself to get too close, but he wanted to cradle her in his arms,
keep her shivers away if he could. Telling this sleeping beauty he would stay, with his body in such turmoil, was a promise he was finding difficult to keep. On the contrary, his mind was warning him to get away, with all the subtlety of flashing lights. He was unstable. The beast, having taken over once already, out of turn, crawled beneath his skin, searching for signs of weakness.

  “Just one touch.”

  Parker rested a hand on the blanket, on top of the girl’s right hip, and waited to see what might happen. The beast pressed at him, but did not escape.

  The girl’s bones felt fragile beneath his palm. Her belly was smooth, concave. She didn’t have much flesh on her. Once upon a time, his mother would have had fun fattening her up.

  Her head lay on the pillow, not all that far away, making it impossible to breathe without taking in the uniqueness of her scent—a fragrance not yet overshadowed by trauma. Being this close to her was a dangerous thing, he knew. Possibly also self-destructive. Whether or not there existed such things as animal magnetism and lust at first sight for human beings, this current conglomerate of man and beast made sure those feelings registered. The emotions enveloping Parker were so much more intense than a simple man-woman attraction.

  He had dialed right in to the extremes of this emotional high. The closer the moon got to its full phase, the more trouble he had coping, especially here in the hospital, where so many people were in turmoil and needed saving. He hated the feel of fabric of any kind on his skin. His overly active appetite kept him on edge with curious, unrepentant cravings. Sensations, one after another, bombarded him from the inside out, his constant companions. All of them centered here, now, on the woman in this bed.

  He didn’t know who she was. And she didn’t know him. She had no idea what he would change into the very next night, how much he had already changed, and that his life was complicated enough without adding a female into the mix. A female who tripped his arousal switches.

  He didn’t want to throw his quest aside. He needed more than ever to find out what had happened to him earlier that year. Parker had given up nearly everything other than his job to find out why a man might be a man one day, and the next find every bone and muscle in his body rearranged.