by Unknown
“Oh, my Lord,” Judy gasped. Her pale face leeched of all color, then filled with a ghastly shade of green. “The killer carved his heart out with a broken beer bottle?”
“I always figured the booze would get him sooner or later, I just never imagined it’d be like this,” Austin interjected in what Cam assumed was a poor shot at wry humor.
A harsh growl ripped from Cam’s chest about the same time Jarvis cleared his throat in heavy disapproval. The remorseful deputy shot Cam a guilty glance, muttered a hasty apology, and quickly focused his attention on bagging up the suspected 126
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murder weapon. Turning his back, gritting his teeth, Cam walked away, making a show of searching the sand for evidence. His temper was boiling, seething just beneath the surface. He was hard-pressed to keep it contained. The last thing he needed to do right now was shift in the middle of a damned crime scene.
Being a Werewolf himself, Austin wouldn’t be surprised…except maybe for the fact that his Alpha couldn’t control himself any better. It might give Jarvis a moment of pause, but then, Cam was sure, he’d start in with the fascinated scientific questions and observations. He was one of the extreme few humans who knew the truth. Werewolves were a breed unto themselves, complete with their own set of chromosomes and their own hybrid blood type.
Being the only doctor in a small town—a town with a healthy-sized Werewolf population—it had just been a matter of time before something out of the ordinary sparked more questions than Cam could find excuses for.
Judy…
Well, trooper that she was, Judy would probably just pass out straight away. That or put a slug between his eyes. With Judy, you just never knew.
“The killer would have needed something stronger than a broken bottle to open his chest up that way.” Jarvis crossed his arms over his own chest, tipping his head to the side.
He studied the position of the body, bending to peer closer at the snapped ribs. “Garden sheers perhaps. Mm-hmm… Long handled garden sheers.
That would allow the proper leverage and pressure.” He spoke to himself, but his words carried through the now silent crime scene as if he’d used a bullhorn.
Beer bottles… Garden sheers…
Shit.
“Interesting,” Jarvis murmured, pricking Cam’s 127
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ears. “What?” Cam moved to the doctor’s side, his footsteps reluctant. Careful to keep his eyes averted from the corpse without looking like he was keeping his eyes averted, he stared at the doctor.
“Cadaveric spasm,” Jarvis explained, eyes on the prize, as he pried Ed’s resistant fist open.
Cam held his breath as Ed’s fist finally yielded a string of small beads and a flash of silver. The delicate rosary, identical to the one found with Lori Watson, poured out onto the blood-soaked sand. A rosary in one hand, his heart in the other. What message was the killer trying to send?
Like Lori, Ed was not Catholic. The only altar he’d ever worshipped at was the long, scarred bar down at Pappy’s, his communion taken not with blessed wine and wafers, but with whatever liquor he could lay paws on—the stronger the proof the better—and a handful of stale pretzels. Cam rocked back on his heels as he finally stared into the face of the father he could neither denounce, nor claim.
He’d find no closure here.
And his heart held no forgiveness.
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Chapter 10
As the sliver of a crescent moon edged over the ridge behind Suttor Hollow, bathing the landscape in deep shadows, Cam slipped through his backyard on silent feet. Pausing just inside the curtain of the forest long enough to shed his clothing and stash them in the hollow of a well-marked tree, he drew a long breath and centered himself. Not an easy task given recent events, but shifting this way was easier, much less painful through centering and focusing rather than giving rage or grief free reign.
His head swam for a moment as searing heat built in his core. Muscle, tendons, and tissue stretched and bunched. Bones snapped and cracked, reshaping and reorganizing themselves. Skin shivered and twitched as fur sprang forth.
Planting all four paws on the ground, Cam flexed his claws, digging them into the loamy soil, shaking himself from the tip of his snout to the last hair on his bushy tail. A thin ribbon of moonlight trickled through the dense canopy overhead, glinting off his honey-toned pelt.
The forest fell unnaturally silent, as if sensing a new threat had entered its domain, a dangerous predator of unequaled abilities far beyond the natural world. In tentative stops and starts, the woods reanimated, swamping Cam’s sharpened senses with distinctive scents and a symphony of sounds. Everything became sharper now, each leaf and every branch, separate and vivid despite the darkness, just as it did whenever he shifted.
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was the same. He waited a moment, and then disappointment rushed through him. Cam dropped back on his haunches, pointed his nose skyward, and let a low, plaintive howl ripple up through his chest and throat, pouring forth into the night. A lone, eerie howl.
In the far distance, a reciprocal acknowledgement pierced the night, once. Then silence. His pack. They would keep their distance tonight, sensing he wished to be alone with his loss.
One of the many benefits of the pack…the unspoken understanding. Sort of a special, emotional telepathy. No verbal explanations were necessary.
Cam had the added bonus of being Alpha…his word was law. None would challenge him.
The anticipated, heady sense of freedom didn’t fill him tonight, not as it usually did. The carefree desire to run wild—to roam at will—did not sink into his bones. Tonight his heart was heavy, confused.
Any other night, he’d have immediately taken off at a steady trot, letting his paws carry him wherever they would. He’d have chased the scents. He’d have raced the moonlight, dancing in the shadows as he reveled in his sometime gift sometime curse.
He’d have hunted. The hunger in him was always a gnawing ache—a driving force—
particularly after shifting, when his metabolism had kicked up and his body demanded nourishment.
Even after shifting back to human form, he’d have to hunt again, though his prey would be far different.
In human form, his prey often consisted of not one but two of Maggie’s blue-plate specials, or a large pizza supreme from Tucker’s. With Cam and the rest of his pack running around, it was little wonder the town’s food service businesses were booming.
Tonight the ache inside was different. Hollow.
He hadn’t anticipated that. He still craved something, of that he was certain. He just didn’t 130
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understand what that craving was exactly. Pushing himself to his feet, he forced his paws to move, but they were heavy and uncooperative. Restless, he wandered through the undergrowth. His heart just wasn’t in his ramblings tonight, his head filled with too many troubling thoughts.
Dappled moonlight flickered across a small stream, turning the water to a ribbon of molten silver, and the small, silver crosses at the end of the identical rosaries came to mind. The rosaries left little doubt the two murders were connected, as did the grisly letters painted on the victim’s bodies. He had a serial killer on his hands, and he didn’t dare call in the pros for help. The last thing his pack needed was a bunch of FBI poking their noses in Sutter Hollow secrets.
He’d tried all afternoon, but he hadn’t been able to come up with any common threads between Lori and Ed, at least none beyond the obvious familiarity bred of small town acquaintances. Lori…effervescent and efficient at her job. With a husband who worshipped the ground she walked on, and not a faithful bone in her body. Then there was Ed…a drunken loner who’d turned his back on his pack and couldn’t hold a job to save his life. Faithful to his dying breath to a woman who would have nothing to do with him.
Different as night an
d day.
No common denominators.
Cam slid to a stop, his breathing arrested. That wasn’t true. There was a common thread. Him. He was the tie that bound them together. He’d slept with Lori, once upon a dark and lonely night, though no one should have known about that. Ed was his father, though few knew of the connection either, only those of his pack and the elders. But they would never tell, never break loyalty with one of their kind.
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he was missing. Whatever it was, he’d find it. He just couldn’t believe this had something to do with him. These murders had to have more behind them, more than the fact both of the victims were key players in scenes from a past he wished to high heaven he could forget. There was a bigger picture, he just needed to step back a little, and maybe he’d get a better view. He’d thought shifting might help to clear away some of the sludge. Being in wolf form usually had that effect on him.
Not this time. This time he was just as confused, just as weary as before.
His paws slowed as he entered a small clearing deep in the heart of the woods. In the very center of that clearing, the forest floor lay blackened and empty, charred from centuries of ceremonial bonfires. The Circle of Beginnings. The sacred site the elders visited for their visions, and the honored location where the pack banded together on special occasions such as welcoming a new member to the pack, or for Lifemate ceremonies.
Incense and smoke clung to the ancient trees, kindling old memories.
He, like every other youngster, had heard the old legends as the naïve citizens of Sutter Hollow knew them. Old wives tales and campfire stories.
Unbelievable tales of shapeshifters and demons of the night. Fiends who prowled the woods, enslaved to the phases of the moon. Animals that killed randomly, without hesitation or remorse. Evil beasts that preyed on careless hikers and unsuspecting innocents. Monsters that bathed in the blood of children and forced themselves on beautiful young women.
All untrue.
Cam had learned the truth of his existence in The Circle.
At the edge of the clearing, he crouched on his 132
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haunches once more, silent and alert, yet his mind drifted far, far away. In his mind’s eye, he watched the billowing gray smoke, thick with incense, swirling into the midnight sky the first time Ed had brought him here. A rite of passage. The stars twinkled overhead, ancient and timeless. Naked but for loincloths as a show of respect for their Winneoten forbearers, the old men gathered around the crackling fire, their chanting low and constant.
Around them, another circle formed. Another generation…the future of the pack.
That night, myth had been dispelled and true understanding gifted through the traditional stories the elders passed down. He and others of his kind weren’t brainless killing machines or rapist controlled by the moon’s cycles. No, they were the average Joe next door, with a few extra… perks, courtesy of a common ancestor who’d made a pact with the Great Spirit in order to thwart his enemies and keep his tribe safe.
The moon held no sway for a Werewolf. His emotions were the only key to his unique shifting abilities. So once he learned to control those, he could shift…or not shift…at will. A silver bullet—
hell, any bullet for that matter—directly in the heart, or head, would end his life. All other wounds no matter how severe, aside from outright amputation of course, would heal with preternatural speed.
But the Werewolf’s heart was the key. The only thing a Werewolf feared more than a mortal wound to the heart was the loss of a mate. A bullet meant instant death, escape from the pain. The loss of a mate meant protracted suffering, a long and painful death of the soul until the body succumbed to the effects of time…or the subject in question could stand the pain no longer and took his own life. Like their wolf brethren, Werewolves mated for life.
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Cam had resisted the truth at first, refused to accept what he’d heard, and what he’d seen with his own eyes…what he could do with his own body. It had taken him several years to come to grips with the reality of his life, to realize that it was reality and not some absurd break with sanity. He’d come to relish the freedom—the wild, unadulterated liberty—as well as the support of the pack. He’d even come to terms with his place in the pack, his position of authority and responsibility. He was Alpha now. Grandson of an Alpha. Great-grandson of an Alpha. Ed had refused the Alpha position, preferring to drown himself in the bottom of a whiskey bottle…that damned mate thing, again.
Why did it always circle back to that?
Bounding to his paws, he prowled The Circle, pacing with angry energy. Lifemate. He snorted at the word. Impossible. The very idea sent a shiver of fear undulating through his coat. On a burst of adrenaline, he shot from the clearing, legs pumping for all he was worth. His massive chest heaved as his breath sawed in and out. His teeth clenched tight as he pushed the word from his mind with determined force. Mile after mile passed in a blur.
Sights and sounds, smells were here and gone before they could register.
He’d just rounded a curve in the river at a dead out sprint, intent on filling the hole in his stomach with the rabbit he’d just caught a whiff of, when something else drew his attention. Something much stronger, much more alluring than the juicy bit of fluff darting for its burrow. A distinctive scent, unimaginably powerful and uniquely enthralling, wafted to him on the gentle breeze, summoning him like a siren’s call. All thought of the hunt slipped from his mind, his head whipped around. His agile paws tangled up in themselves, and he tumbled headlong into the thick trunk of an ancient spruce.
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Fazed, he picked himself up, shaking his great, shaggy head. Lifting his snout to the wind, he dragged in a series of sharp sniffs, and took a cautious, reluctant step forward. Another round of sniffing snared him, like a fish set to well-baited hook. Her scent, drifting through the medley of raw foliage, seized him by the soul and reeled him in. His paws moved now of their own volition, with a fervor he’d never before known.
JJ…
He drew near, slowed. Following his instincts, he crept forward, head low to the ground, prowling the blurred line between her yard and the woods. He lurked in the shadows, his keen eyes searching for her. She was outside. Her scent was powerful, unmuted by the confines of a house, drawing him ever closer.
His ears pricked, twitching forward as he picked up the soft, velvety sound of her low humming. The bars were sporadic, the melody vaguely familiar. All his senses locked on her, he edged closer, savoring the sound of her song as she secured the new lock on the shed door.
The palest hint of silver moonlight limned her delicate profile. Her hair was unbound now, streaming down her back in rippling waves of gilded perfection. Her jeans were frayed around the edges, snug around that luscious bottom of hers. Her boots bore deep scuffmarks, her T-shirt was well worn and a size too big. Her slim, bare arms almost glowed against the encroaching darkness. She was gorgeous, her scars inconsequential.
Raw desire ruthlessly shoved any frustrated thoughts of thwarted revenge against the man who’d harmed her from his mind.
A rustling in the trees caught his attention, and he froze. His heightened senses kicked up a notch.
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even trying. Across the yard, she gathered her tools, oblivious of the threat.
His heart thundered.
His female was in danger.
He crept forward, low to the ground, his steady gaze trained on the tree line just beyond JJ. Her back was to him now, and she’d gone still. Had she finally noticed she wasn’t alone? He slunk closer, his hackles lifting. He was a little over three yards away, when the bear broke free of the trees. Cam was closer to JJ, but not by much. The bear lifted his dripping snout to the air and snorted, rising up t
o stand on its hind legs. It let out a long, warning wail, its great lips flapping as it sprayed drool.
Cam closed the distance in two leaping bounds.
He landed directly in front of JJ and backed up until his tail brushed her stiff legs. He crouched there, protective and threatening. Her breathing was shallow and fast, whipping over his senses. He could smell her fear.
Baring his fangs, he snarled warning at the bear. He would protect his female with his life, if need be. He was considerably larger than your average wolf—as was typical of his kind—but the bear towered over him, outweighing him by a solid two hundred pounds.
At least.
If he fought this bear, it might well cost him his life. He only prayed JJ got away before the bear finished with him. He could call to his pack, but it would be a waste of energy and focus. Fast as they were, they’d never make it here in time.
The bear’s massive paws slashed at the air, wicked black claws glinting in the sparse moonlight.
It growled, deep and loud. Its size indicated it was male…a full-grown male, easily topping four hundred pounds…but it shouldn’t be this close to town. Sutter Hollow had never had a problem with 136
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bears before.
And this one seemed particularly irritable.
Though he couldn’t communicate with the bear the way he could with his pack, Cam’s preternatural sensitivity keyed him in to the animal’s hunger. It had probably come to investigate the delicious aroma drifting from JJ’s kitchen windows. Well, it would just have to find its midnight snack elsewhere. The black bear couldn’t have whatever it was she’d baked…and it sure as hell couldn’t have her. Cam snarled again, edging back half a pace until his rump pushed against her thigh. Shit, why wasn’t she running for the house? He wanted to yell at her to go, but the best he could do in this form was growl and push at her again.
Damn it, JJ, run.
The bear dropped to the ground, and, finally, she bolted.
The shaggy beast advanced, his stench preceding him, his beady eyes swinging from Cam to JJ, and back again. Cam edged to the side, keeping his large body firmly positioned between the bear and JJ, preparing himself to fight. He had to hold out, at least long enough for her to get to safety. The door slammed behind him. The bear took two feinting steps forward, snorting and pawing at the shrinking space between them.