Wild Ones

by Cassie Black

  Wild Ones

  (Book 2 in The Wild Gene Chronicles)

  Cassie Black

  Copyright 2013 by Cassie Black

  Also by Cassie Black:

  The Wild Gene

  (Book 1 in The Wild Gene Chronicles)

  Smashwords Edition, License notes

  Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com.

  Prologue

  It was darker in the witch's tent than the girls had expected, and smoky without the actual smoke. It smelled funny too, like crushed grass and old furniture.

  The witch held out her hands, and the girls obediently placed their hands in hers, palms up. They had agreed to have their future foretold in exchange for a couple of dollars that had been tucked into their pockets by their mother earlier that day, when she had promised an outing to the fair. Somehow they had managed to bypass all the rides and end up here. It was inevitable.

  "Ah," intoned the witch slowly, and the girls breathed out in awe at the gravity of the moment. "You girls have the wild gene."

  The girls looked at each other, puzzled. Where were the tall dark and handsome strangers? The fairytale weddings? The spectacular lives that other witches and clairvoyants had spoken of? This was not their first foray into the world of fortune-tellers, and they had certain expectations. One of the girls narrowed her eyes, and spoke, her voice filled with confidence beyond her age.

  "What does that mean?"

  "You both have the wild gene," the witch said again in a hushed voice and then she fell silent as she gazed at them, her expression pensive. The atmosphere in the tent seemed to thicken.

  "What that means, girls, is trouble. Terrible trouble. But not yet. Give it another dozen years or so, and they will come for you."

  "Who will?" The girls could never remember who had asked this crucial question.

  "The wolves. The bloodfeeders. Whoever finds you first." She released their hands and her expression hardened, anger flashing in her eyes.

  "And they take without asking."

  The witch remained silent after that, and appeared to go into some sort of trance. The girls watched her for a few minutes, completely dissatisfied with the whole experience. They left then, and spent most of the afternoon repeating the witch's words to each other and giggling.

  Wolves and bloodfeeders. As if.

  Part 1

  Maddie

  I

  I imagined trying to explain all of this to the police and chuckled. I guess laughing should really have been pretty low on my list of things to do, considering what had just happened, and what was still happening - I cringed slightly at the sound of tearing flesh and crunching bones - but I have never reacted to anything in what you would call a normal way. I tended to make light of the darkest situations, and when things became super-hairy and downright dangerous I would laugh and rejoice in the adrenaline flooding my body and making me feel so alive. I guess you could call me an adrenaline junkie, but that wouldn't be strictly accurate. Adrenaline junkies chased their highs by jumping out of planes and diving off rooftops. My highs chased me.

  I worked for a local private investigator as a part time freelance investigator-slash-bait. John, my boss, handled a lot of 'cheating spouse' investigations, and inevitably I would be called in to provide some incentive for the spouse to actually cheat, especially if John wasn't able to find any good evidence of spousal infidelity. John liked to deliver, as he had often explained while I grumbled about having to try and charm the pants off some unsuspecting guy. And he couldn't deliver if the guy wasn't cheating. So he brought me in, and more often than not the previously pristine man would turn into a vile creep who tried to stick his tongue down my throat. I couldn't blame them, really. Put me in a low cut red dress and high heels, and most men would try that. I'm not really sure why.

  John tried to explain it to me one day as he clutched his bleeding nose. He had just seen me in said dress and had tried to take it off again. I had explained nicely that he should leave it where it was and step back, but he'd ignored me and tried harder. So I broke his nose with a well aimed fist. Then I had demanded that he explain his behaviour. There was a lot of explaining going on that day.

  "God, you're so hod," he had said thickly as his blood dribbled down his shirt front. "Every ban I dow wants to fug you." It took a while for me to figure that one out, and when I did my face must have transmitted my disapproval, because he stepped back hastily.

  "Sorry, Baddie," he pleaded. "I won'd ever do dad again."

  I had chuckled then, as I did now. It wasn't the best situation to be in, but it was ridiculous enough for me and my dark sense of humour to appreciate it.

  I was hauled back to the present by the crunching and growling just behind and to the left of me. I was backed up against a giant pine tree, and the rough bark was scratching my back through my thin t-shirt. But neither the crunching nor the growling nor the discomfort of the bark against my skin was bothering me as much as the reason why I was pressed up against the tree.

  Three enormous wolves stood in a loose semi circle around me, their gazes unwavering. They just stood there, oozing threat. Having just been a witness to their pack mates' activities, I was only too aware of the realness of that threat, and I stood very still and breathed very quietly. After a while they still hadn't killed me, and the crunching sounds were diminishing, so I started pretending I was in the small local police station, reporting this incident to a highly sceptical and very distracted Officer Jenkins. He was one of two local law enforcement officers, and I had been in the same class as him throughout primary school. Unfortunately he had been my boyfriend for all of two days when I was ten years old, and he tended to dwell on what might have been, so having any sort of conversation with him was a complete nightmare. But he was better than his creepy older colleague, who saw me as an evil temptress, and spent a lot of time quoting the bible at me. I remember once trying to explain that putting a hand between my legs while I stood in a queue at a bank was not an appropriate thing for a random stranger to do, and that is why the perpetrator of this outrage was now in the ED having three of his fingers set and splinted. He had looked me up and down, and told me that the victim with the broken fingers was refusing to press charges. I had stormed out of the office when it dawned on me that the police in this town would do nothing to help me. It was as if they regarded this and several other minor sexually motivated assaults on my person as 'self-inflicted'.

  I had started carrying concealed weapons after that. My favourite was the retractable car key that I had honed to a fine edge. Press a button and it turned from an innocuous looking key to a dangerous and highly effective weapon that had served me well in the past.

  Unfortunately I had been out running when I had crossed paths with the group of bikers, so no keys. It probably wouldn't have been very helpful against all eight of them, I guess. I might have damaged one or two, maybe three. But eight?

  "Well, Orificer," I imagined myself explaining. "I was running down one of the dirt roads up by Brown's Creek when a group of eight bikers dressed all in leather and riding a bunch of, uh, bikes drove past. They changed direction and started following me down the road, riding alongside and just behind me. They were looking at me funny, so I decided to jump the gate a bit further along. You know the one that says Private Property, No Trespassing."

  "I have asked you several times in the past to refrain from calling me Orificer, Ms Leigh. What do you mean they were looking at you funny?"

  "Well, Orificer, kinda like you're doing now, exce
pt with gestures. They were leering."

  "I am not leering at you Ms Leigh. I don't know why you should say such a thing." Nervous glance at recorder.

  "Anyway, I jumped over the fence and started running down the overgrown track on the other side of the gate. I could hear them behind me messing with the chain, and when I looked over my shoulder I saw that they'd cut the lock and swung the gate open."

  "What did you do then?" A very unsubtle glance at my breasts. I had been interviewed often enough to know that this would inevitably happen.

  "I ran faster, Orificer, as fast as I could. The bikers started down the track behind me. They had almost pulled alongside me again when out of nowhere there huge shapes flew through the air and knocked them off their bikes. I turned and saw a pack of huge wolves, at least a dozen or so."

  Sceptical look. "What happened then, Ms Leigh?"

  "They ate them."

  I couldn't imagine the conversation beyond that. The whole scenario dissolved before my mind's eye when I tried. Nobody would ever believe me.

  The wolves stirred then, their attention drawn to something behind them. A larger wolf appeared out of the lengthening shadows that surrounded the track. The others withdrew slightly as it approached me. It fastened its predatory gaze on me, its green eyes unblinking and unmerciful. I hoped that it would be fast, that the beast would clamp its huge jaws around my throat, squeezing the life out of me, before I became its dinner. From the sounds of things some of the bikers hadn't been so lucky.

  It walked towards me slowly until its nose was almost touching me. It was black and huge, much bigger than normal wolves, and it's nose was almost level with my belt buckle, or would have been if I had worn one. I was dressed in running shorts and a tank top.

  The black wolf leaned forward and I screwed my eyes shut, not willing to see my own flesh being torn apart. I felt nothing for a few seconds, and then there was something prodding my legs. I opened my eyes to see the wolf's muzzle nudge my one thigh, and then reach out and nip it. I moved my leg away from those sharp teeth, and the wolf buried its nose between my now open thighs, sniffing furiously.

  Seriously? I thought to myself. How does shit like this always happen to me? Well, not like this exactly, but I bet nobody else would ever find themselves in this kind of situation.

  The wolf stood like that for longer than I thought necessary. I thought about trying to push its head away, but quickly abandoned that plan. I could feel the power in its neck as it almost lifted me off my feet with its insolent nose. Then it withdrew and turned to the other members of its pack and growled. They all bowed their heads and flattened their ears. I couldn't help noticing how several of them still had biker blood staining their muzzles. I counted twelve in total, plus the black one made thirteen. Unlucky indeed, especially for me.

  Nine of them, including the black wolf, suddenly turned and loped off, leaving four smaller wolves standing guard around me. I tried at one stage to move, but every time I even twitched, one of them would bare its teeth and growl. So I stood like a statue while the sun retreated and the temperature dropped.

  After what felt like hours I heard the low rumble of an engine, and two headlights bobbed into view. The wolves stood their ground until the vehicle came to a stop a couple of metres away from where I stood. I almost cried with relief as a man climbed out of the front of an old Land Rover and walked to where I stood.

  "Are you OK?" he asked.

  "I'm fine," I told him, realising with relief that it was true. I was stiff and cold, but unhurt. It was a bit of a miracle, considering all the horrible things that had happened around me today.

  "Come with me," he said shortly and led the way back to the car. I followed him, thanking the fates for my deliverance.

  Which was a bit premature, as it turns out.

  II

  He drove along the track with practised ease. I glanced sideways at him a couple of times, but in the dim light of the cab I made out very little more than what I had briefly seen in the glow of the headlights earlier. Shaggy blonde hair, curling slightly over his collar. Strong chin, firm mouth, yellow eyes, although that could have been a trick of the light. We pulled up outside a log cabin with steps leading up to a deck out front, and a light burning in the windows. The man climbed out of the car and led me up to the front door, which he opened, revealing a snug sitting room with a log burner and an old leather couch. A fire blazed energetically in the burner, and the room was warm and inviting. I stepped inside, and turned to ask the man if he lived here, but he was already back in the Land Rover, and he started it up and drove away while I watched, open mouthed.

  Oh, well, I thought as I kicked my shoes off and shut the door behind me. It was probably best that he left. That way I wouldn't have to worry about him trying to take advantage of my very vulnerable position. Not that he would, though. I hadn't picked up and sleazy vibes from him during the drive, and my sleaze-ometer was a finely honed sensitive piece of equipment.

  I wandered through the cabin, noting a small kitchen, a larger bedroom, and a gloriously functional bathroom, complete with a very modern looking shower. I grinned at this unexpected luxury, and peeled off my sweaty clothes and stepped under the blissfully hot water. I used the soap and shampoo hanging from a rack in the shower to was the dirt and sweat from my body, and then stood for a few minutes with my arms extended, leaning against the wall as the hot jets pummelled my skin. I groaned with the pleasure of it, and then jumped at the sound of a deep masculine chuckle. I whirled around to see a man standing just inside the bathroom with his bare feet set slightly apart and his arms folded across his chest. He was tall, with hair so dark it was almost blue-black, and piercing green eyes beneath thick black brows and eyelashes. There was a stark beauty about his features that unnerved me. Mind you, I was already unnerved by the fact that I was naked in a shower in front of a man I didn't know. I was also a bit put out by how he stared, not self consciously like the very few men who had actually seen me naked, but with a lazy appreciation.

  "Please would you pass me a towel," I asked as politely as I could under the circumstances. He ignored my request and just stood there, waiting. Great. I opened the door of the shower cubicle and stepped out, meaning to grab the towel that hung from a nearby rail, but he stepped forward, effectively blocking my access. I stood in front of him, our bodies almost touching, and frowned up at him. His eyes glinted as he looked down at me, and then he curled his left hand around the back of my neck and leaned down to kiss me. I had been in similar situations in the past (apart from the nakedness, of course) and I knew exactly what to do. I let him kiss me, and when his tongue forced my mouth open, I bit it. Hard.

  He pulled back with a curse, and his hand tightened around my neck. I glared up at him defiantly.

  "There's no point fighting," he told me in a low velvety voice that resonated low down in my belly. Not the most reassuring phrase I'd ever heard. No point fighting what?

  I pushed against his chest with my hands, trying to put some space between us. He was making me nervous as hell with his deep voice. Plus his smell - pine, wood smoke and overpowering maleness.

  He released my neck and grabbed my wrists, pulling my arms behind my back. The movement caused me to stumble against him and he groaned as my breasts were crushed against his chest. Next thing he had lifted me up and carried me to the bedroom and deposited me, protesting all the way, on the king sized bed.

  "Hush, Maddie," was all he said in response to my protests.

  "How do you know my name?" I demanded suspiciously, suddenly sidetracked. This was getting stranger by the second.

  "I've been keeping an eye on you for a while now," he explained in that same low voice as he pulled his shirt over his head. I was momentarily distracted by the sight of a tanned muscular chest and a hard flat abdomen.

  "What?" Oh, great, another stalker. I'd had two in the past, one of which had been a weedy guy I'd said hello to when I bought milk, and the second was still a mystery man
who sent me suggestive letters littered with spelling mistakes. I had a few suspects, but the culprit remained elusive.

  "How do you spell buttocks?" I asked the stranger who was now removing his jeans with disconcerting speed. He paused, startled, one leg in mid air.

  "B-u-t-t-o-c-k-s," he told me, grinning, as he stepped out of his shorts. I frowned at him.

  "So it's not you then," I said pensively. What kind of person has three separate stalkers? I wondered, not for the first time, what was wrong with me. Then I remembered the now naked man looming over me, looking puzzled.

  "So are you going to rape me now?" I asked him in a matter-of-fact voice. He looked taken aback, and I felt a glimmer of satisfaction. Then he tilted his head to one side.

  "It won't be rape, Madeleine," he purred.

  "Definition of rape: carnal knowledge of a woman without her consent. Technically this is rape," I said, waving my hand about to indicate the current situation. "No means no, buddy." If I had a dollar for every time I'd said that.

  "You haven't said no yet," he grinned and before I could say anything else he had leaned his body across mine, and pressed his mouth against my lips. I bucked, trying to get him off me, but he shifted his position so that he lay alongside me with one heavy leg across my hips. His hands found my wrists again and he pulled them above my head. I lay motionless for a while, and he lifted his head to look down at me.

  "No!" I shouted at him. "Let me go!"

  "Sorry, Maddie," he said, lifting his body up on one elbow. I looked up at the soft expression in his eyes and I felt a glimmer of hope. "I guess it will be rape, then."

  And just like that, my hope was shattered.

  III