Savage Transformation

by Lexxie Couper

  Will you fuck me?

  “Jack?”

  Delanie’s shout—high and stretched with worry—snapped at her focus. She blinked, shooting her best friend an impatient frown over her shoulder.

  Not now, Del. Later. Later. After I’ve run. After I’ve mated. After I’ve—

  Jackie froze, her throat squeezing shut at the wild notion thrumming through her consciousness. She swallowed. God, what am I doing? A tingle racing up her spine, she turned back to the man.

  Gone.

  Rooted to the spot, she searched the tree line, her mouth dry, her sex heavy.

  Nothing. Just ancient eucalypts, blossom-heavy wattle and callistemons.

  Jackie reached to snatch her gun from its holster before she remembered it wasn’t there. What the hell was going on?

  “Are you okay?”

  Delanie’s husky, breathless question made Jackie start. She jerked her stare from the shadows beneath the snow gum up to her friend’s face. Jesus, what had she been about to do?

  “Jack? Are you okay? What’s up?”

  Jackie studied the tree line, searching for any hint of the man. She pulled in a deep breath, straining to detect an unusual scent.

  “Jack?” Delanie’s voice grew taut with worry. “This is the second time you’ve done this to me since coming home. Answer me. Are you okay?”

  Nothing. It was as if the man never existed.

  Are you sure he did? Three times in the last twenty-four hours? And seriously, in Pyengana?

  She released a sigh, turning back to the hovering Delanie. “I’m okay, Del, honest.” She gave her a small smile. “Just having difficulty keeping my calm.”

  Delanie raised her exquisitely shaped eyebrows. “Yeah, I’d say sprinting away from an open grave and jumping over a gravestone constitutes as not keeping your calm. You know you almost knocked over Mr. Carmichael.”

  Jackie pulled a face, dragging her fingers through her hair. “Did I?”

  “This is not like you, Jack. Even when you were living here you were the epitome of control.” Delanie’s forehead puckered into a frown. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  I’m about to go into heat, I keep seeing a mystery man who may or may not be real and something about him makes me horny?

  Jackie shook her head. “No.”

  Delanie didn’t look convinced. “Hmm.”

  “I’m fine. Honest.” Jackie smiled, just to show how fine she was. The action felt forced. She wasn’t fine. She was on edge. Not just because she was home, not just because she felt her inner animal clawing its way to freedom, not just because of her now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t, maybe-maybe-not stalker, but because things felt…wrong. Like the way the air thrummed just before an electrical storm—angry and charged with sleeping violence.

  The same uneasy sensation had twisted through her the second she’d learnt of Detective Yolanda Vischka’s brutal murder. Who was capable of murdering a werewolf? Especially one as old as Vischka? One as unassailable? Or more to the point, who was capable of hacking a werewolf to pieces until little remained but a few body parts?

  Swallowing the sudden bile in her throat, Jackie smiled at her friend again. “I’m fine.” She curled her arm through Delanie’s. “Except I need coffee.”

  “You need to say hello to your mother.”

  The smoke-course voice behind her turned the bile in Jackie’s throat hot. She turned, fixing her foster mother with a flat stare. “I would, if she was alive.”

  Rhonda Smith didn’t react to the blunt statement. She stood in the late afternoon sunshine, hair the colour of rust, lips and nails shining with equally abrasive colour. Blue eyes flinty and cold, she ran a slow look over Jackie. “I am surprised you deigned it necessary to come back.” She pulled a cigarette from her handbag, placed it between her lips and lit it with a dime-store lighter. “Or are you here to take pleasure in my grief?”

  Jackie drew a deep breath in through her nostrils. “I’m not here to fight, Rhonda. I came, now I’m going. My sympathies for your loss.”

  Rhonda laughed, the sound low and humourless. “Your sympathies? I half expected you to break into song and dance beside Richard’s grave.”

  “Mrs. Smith,” Delanie began, sliding her arm around Jackie’s waist.

  A small smile pulled at the corners of Jackie’s mouth. Just like Del to feel she needed to protect her.

  “I see you’re still the upstart little know-it-all you were as a child, Delanie McKenzie,” Rhonda snapped, flicking Delanie a savage look through the rising tendril of smoke leaking from her mouth. “Things haven’t changed much. Shut up. This is not your concern.”

  “You’re right, Rhonda.” Jackie lifted her chin. “Things don’t change. You’re still the same rude, bitter woman you were when I was a teenager.” She turned away from her foster mother, her gaze falling to the ancient snow gum on the cemetery’s perimeter. “The funeral is over. There’s no reason for me to be in Pyengana.”

  “There was no reason for you to come back,” Rhonda snarled. “We were done with you the day the government stopped paying us the foster-family allowance.”

  Jackie closed her eyes, her palm itching for her gun.

  No, it wasn’t her gun her skin itched for. It was the shift. The transformation. The carnal urge to sink teeth, long and sharp, into Rhonda’s neck and tear it wide. Tear it open until the woman’s blood flowed, staining the grass around her still, lifeless corpse the colour of her hair. Tainting the sweet air with the scent of raw flesh and sustenance.

  Jackie opened her eyes, staring at the snow gum. Forcing the potent hunger down, she turned her head, giving her foster mother an empty smile. Rhonda’s words didn’t cut her to the core, didn’t tear her apart. They just made her angry. Angry that such a woman had abused the system for so long. And in that anger, Jackie realized she didn’t care what her foster mother thought anymore. “No, Rhonda, you were done with me long before that. I just kept hoping you weren’t, stupid, naïve kid that I was.” She cocked her head to the side a little. “I’ve often wondered what closure felt like. Now I know. Good bye, Rhonda. Be kind to yourself.”

  From the corner of her eye, she watched Delanie give the woman a broad grin. She let out a silent sigh and began walking away. From the cemetery. From the snow gum. From the man who may be lurking in the tree’s shadows.

  No. He’s not there. Not now. You can’t feel him studying you.

  She swallowed at the stubborn lump in her throat and ignored Rhonda’s blustering shout. Closure, did indeed feel good. As cutting and hurtful as it was. Throwing Delanie a quick look, she headed for the car park. “Did I already mention I need coffee?”

  Delanie nodded. “I believe you did.”

  “Does the Healey Cheese Factory still make those delicious lamingtons?”

  Her friend’s laugh was answer enough.

  Jackie smiled. “Okay. Caffeine and cake first, then it’s goodbye Tasmania.”

  Delanie stopped walking. “Really?” Her bottom lip protruded in a comical pout, but Jackie could see the disappointment in her striking green eyes.

  “I can’t stay, Del.” She shook her head, flicking her gaze toward the distant tree line and the ancient snow gum. “You know why. The air is getting to me. The smell of this place is intoxicating. I’m fighting the transformation every second of every minute.” She dragged her fingers through her hair. “I need to get back to Sydney where all I can smell and taste is saltwater, smog, sweat and eucalypts. I need to get the animal back under control before I surrender to the pull and lose myself.”

  “I’ll keep you safe,” Delanie offered. “You can run amuck in my apartment. My neighbours aren’t going to care. The noises they hear coming from my place most nights must—”

  “I can’t, Del,” Jackie interrupted. She took a step forward, smoothing her palms up her best friend’s arms. “You know I love you. I don’t have to tell you that, and I miss you like hell every single day, but if I don’t leave soon
I’m gone.”

  Delanie sighed, turning her stare to the few remaining mourners hovering by Richard Smith’s grave. Jackie gave them a disinterested glance, wishing she could take away Delanie’s despair. For all her extroverted bravado, Delanie McKenzie was a small-town girl who missed her one true friend.

  Perhaps you could stay a few days…

  The thought came from deep within the lonely shadows of her mind. Alluring and enticing. And dangerous. She couldn’t stay. She had to go. Delanie would just have to understand. It wasn’t just for Jackie’s sanity. It was for her safety as well. If she transformed here, in Tasmania’s lush, unspoiled beauty, she may never transform back.

  Threading her fingers through Delanie’s, she gave her friend’s hands a gentle tug. “I’ll make you a deal—coffee and cake at Healy’s, my shout. Then we’ll drive to St. Helens for a movie, crash at the most expensive hotel we can find for the night and, after a ridiculously indulgent breakfast, we’ll drive back to Launceston where I’ll let you shout me copious amounts of coffee before my flight back to Sydney.”

  Delanie didn’t take her stare from the mourners.

  “I’ll even let you steal the hotel robes without pitching a fit. How does that sound?”

  The sides of her friend’s lips twitched. “Throw in a bottle of champagne at dinner and it’s done.” She swung her gaze back to Jackie, giving her a wide grin. “We have to at least celebrate the last conversation you’ll ever have with the Wicked Witch of the arse-end of Australia.”

  A warm glow spread through Jackie’s chest and she squeezed Delanie’s fingers. “Deal.”

  Okay. This is getting ridiculous.

  Jackie turned on the spot, studying the car park around her. A few cars stood silent and still in the hotel’s parking bay, the late afternoon sun bouncing off their windshields in glinting spears of white-orange light.

  She frowned, turning back to the hotel they’d only just checked into. The Tasmanian Gardens’ entryway doors stayed shut, the glass panels revealing an empty check-in foyer. No sign of Delanie there either. “Where are you, Del?”

  Swallowing an uncomfortable sense of foreboding, she crossed the car park, heading for Delanie’s beloved Volkswagen Beetle. Bernie stood between a black convertible BMW and a silver Toyota 4x4, jarring and smug in his eye-stinging bright green paintwork, dented hubcaps and hot-pink windscreen wipers. Nothing looked out of place. All the doors were locked.

  Jackie circled the car, fingers wriggling. She narrowed her eyes, studying the ground, car park, surrounding buildings and trees. After checking-in, Delanie had returned to Bernie to retrieve their overnight bags while Jackie found their room. Ten minutes later, the mini-bar, bathroom and balcony overlooking the pool thoroughly inspected, Jackie had perched herself on the foot of the softest bed in the room and waited for Delanie to arrive.

  Eleven minutes after that, she’d begun to gnaw on her lip. Two minutes later, she’d begun to clench her fists to keep her fingers still. Another minute and she was out of the room, doing everything she could to stop herself sprinting through the hotel’s hallway on her way to the car park.

  The second she’d pushed through the foyer’s main doors the pre-dusk air assaulted her, as if waiting for her to step into its intoxicating sweetness. Her thylacine growled, surging though her being with rapid ease. Snatching back control had been hard. She’d shoved the need to transform down into the pit of her existence and half-walked, half-ran down the hotel’s stairs into the car park, scanning the area for any sign of Delanie.

  And now here she was, walking around her best friend’s car, breathing shallow for fear of losing herself to her inner animal when she knew she should be breathing deep to detect any hint of Delanie’s location.

  Then stop being a chicken shit and do it.

  Coming to a standstill, wishing—again—she had her gun, Jackie closed her eyes and pulled in a long, slow breath.

  There! Delanie.

  Faint, almost dispersed to nothing, but there. To her right. Delanie’s scent tinged with…

  She turned, lifting her head slightly and pulling in another breath.

  Her heart clenched. Fear. Delanie’s scent was tinged with fear. The acrid kind of a sudden fright.

  God, what is going on?

  Following the scent, the thylacine inside her itching for release, she moved through the car park. Clapped-out combi-vans stood beside shiny hybrids. Dented station wagons shared the asphalt with lovingly looked-after sedans. Each waited for their owners to return, the setting sun casting their paintwork in a fiery orange glow.

  Jackie pulled in another breath, tasting the air. Del had been here.

  She narrowed her eyes, approaching a low red convertible. Heat rolled from it in unpleasant waves, the stench of burning motor oil almost choking her. Reaching out, she placed her right palm on the car’s hood. Hot. Hot enough to tell her the engine had only recently been running.

  She took another breath, separating the car’s fumes from the delicate scent of her best friend. Delanie’s scent grew stronger here. More concentrated.

  Jackie’s chest squeezed tight. It wasn’t just Del’s scent that was more potent here. Her fear tainted the air like a thick mist.

  Damnit, Del. What’s going on?

  She took another breath. There was more on the air than Delanie’s fear-laced scent. There was something else, something she couldn’t put her finger on. A scent that wasn’t a scent.

  That doesn’t make sense, Huddart.

  No, it didn’t, but she didn’t know how else to explain it. There was a void to the air, as if something had erased the particles of which it was comprised. Removed them from existence.

  Her pulse quickened. Removing something from a crime scene—and worryingly, this is exactly what this seemed to be—meant Delanie wasn’t just missing. She was…

  “Taken,” she whispered.

  Her stomach rolled and she ran her stare over the red convertible. She could do one of two things. She could call the local police force and report Delanie as missing, and aid them in finding her by following standard police procedure. Or she could track Del herself. Alone.

  She straightened, removing her hand from the car and turning into the gentle breeze at her back.

  It blew against her face, barely strong enough to move the strands of her hair. Closing her eyes, she drew in another breath, through her mouth as well this time, tasting Delanie on the air. No, it wasn’t just on the air. It was on the ground as well. Whoever had taken Del had left a scent trail on the road.

  On purpose?

  The question slipped through Jackie’s mind, making her already fast pulse thump faster. Who would do that? Who would take her best friend and leave a scent trail?

  She ground her teeth. No one. She was being dramatic. Ridiculous. She had to stop standing here wasting time with stupid notions of malevolent intentions and find Delanie. Find her and then teach the bastard who took her what happens to those who mess with a cop’s best friend.

  Heart racing, she began running, nose into the breeze, Del’s scent flowing into her body.

  Four blocks passed. Five. Six. The houses flanking her became light industrial buildings and warehouses. And still, Delanie’s scent pulled her forward. Faster. Her inner animal ached for release. Hungered to track, to run…

  She ran, her blood roaring in her ears, and skidded to a halt, heels digging into the now gravel road when a man stepped toward her from behind a big black van. A tall man with impossibly broad shoulders and narrow lean hips.

  The very man she’d caught looking at her inside the airport terminal yesterday. The same man who’d driven away from the airport car park in a black Audi an hour later.

  The same man she’d seen standing under a snow gum at Pyengana’s cemetery.

  Cold fury ripped through her. “You’ve been following me.” She bunched her fists by her side and took a step closer to him, fixing him with an unwavering glare. “What the hell have you done with Delanie?
”

  A tiny dimple creased his left cheek beside lips curled into a small grin, giving Jackie the impression he knew a secret he found entirely humourous. Dark honey-blonde hair fell over his forehead in a tousled mess, brushing straight eyebrows a shade darker. “I have, Detective Huddart. But I’m afraid I haven’t taken your friend.”

  He studied her from behind impenetrable black sunglasses, the intensity of his unseen but wholly felt inspection making Jackie want to shiver.

  And smash her fist against his far too square jaw.

  “I’ve seen you three times in the last twenty four hours and now my best friend is missing.” Her heart thumped hard in her throat. “That’s not coincidence. Who are you and how the hell do you know who I am?”

  She could hear her control cracking, hear the violence of her animal’s soul cutting each word she said, but she didn’t care. He—whoever he was—had the advantage over her. She didn’t like that. Not as a cop. Not as an animal. She didn’t like it at all.

  He however, seemed unaffected by her obvious aggression. His lips curled into a broader grin. “Marshall Rourke, at your service.”

  Jackie didn’t return his smile. “You’re American?”

  Long, straight fingers came up to tip an imaginary hat. “Texan, actually, but it’s pretty much the same thing.”

  “Enough of the charm, Mr. Rourke.” Jackie snapped. Damn, she wished she had her gun. And her badge. She’d wipe that far-too-sexy grin from his face in two seconds flat. “Time to tell me why you’re following me, how you know who I am and where the hell Del—”

  Her best friend’s name slipped from her lips before she could stop it and she bit back a sharp curse. Damn it, cop law 101—don’t give away information not already revealed. She clenched her fists, glaring at Marshall Rourke.

  “I know you have no reason to trust me.” He removed his dark sunglasses, and Jackie’s chest squeezed. His eyes were stunning. Piercing light blue the colour of Antarctic ice. “But if you want to see Delanie McKenzie alive again, I recommend you come with me.”

  Delanie lifted her head from the cold, dirty floor. At least, she thought it was dirty. What felt like grit ground into her right cheek and jaw, like tiny stabs from an even tinier blade, but the room was too dark to make out exactly what scattered the floor. If in fact it was a room.