Knowledge Quickening (The Nememiah Chronicles Book 2)

by D. S. Williams

  “Can't you just… turn into a wolf? Couldn't you fight him if you were a werewolf?” I asked hopefully.

  He snorted derisively. “There you go, thinking like a human again. Werewolves are different to shifters. They change on a whim, or become half-man, half-animal. A true werewolf only transforms at full moon.”

  What he'd said to Armstrong came back to me and I shivered. “There's a full moon coming.”

  Conal nodded, his black eyes impassive. “In two nights.”

  “You'll become…” Full-on fear gripped my chest and I shut my eyes. He would become a wolf and I would be trapped inside this room with him. “Will it still happen, even if you're inside this building?”

  “Regrettably, yeah. The myth says we have to be in moonlight to transform – that doesn't make a difference. I'll transform to wolf on the first night of the full moon and it happens for three nights in a row. In wolf form, I won't recognize you, won't know you. I'll kill you.” His voice held no emotion; he stated it as a matter of cold, hard fact.

  I rubbed my hands over my face and on through my tangled hair. “This situation just keeps getting better and better,” I groaned.

  “Let's worry about one thing at a time. We need to prepare for our next visit with Armstrong.” He paused, gazing down at me and the expression on his face softened. “Charlotte, you need to concentrate.”

  It was a struggle to drag myself back from the terrifying thought of being ripped apart by a werewolf. When I looked up at him, I found it hard to believe this man was going to become a wild beast. It seemed incomprehensible. “Okay, I'm listening.”

  “I'm going to tell Armstrong I've broken though a shield, but you have a second shield in place. That will buy us some time. We have to let him think we're making progress. I'll probe your mind and it's going to be intensely painful, but I promise, I won't probe any deeper than I have to, to make it look authentic.”

  I nodded, swallowing nervously.

  “In the meantime, we've got to find a way out of here. I thought about breaking that window and shunting you out of here before I transform. I figure you're tiny enough to fit through it. The only flaw with that plan is that there are shifters out there, guarding the grounds and they'll only take minutes to pick up your scent. Armstrong wants you kept intact – in which case, he'll be likely to kill me before the full moon. It's gonna be like walking a tightrope, trying to keep you alive, me alive and somehow convince Armstrong not to kill me before the full moon. If I can make it through until then and still be alive, we've got a fighting chance – but I still need to figure out how to get you out of harm's way.”

  My head was spinning and panic gripped my chest. I was certain I was going to die, no matter which way things eventuated. There wasn't a bright side to the mess in which we found ourselves. It was ironic to think I was looking for a way to kill myself a few months ago, but now I wanted to live. When I peeked up at Conal's face, I knew he would see the panic in my eyes. Tears brimmed against my eyelashes and rolled down my cheeks. I winced when the salty liquid stung the open cuts.

  Conal leaned down and licked my skin gently, his tongue picking up the tears and brushing them away. His warm breath on my face was strangely comforting, his tongue flicking tenderly across the cut on my cheek. He captured me in his arms and turned me in his lap until I lay across his body, his arms encircling me. I lay still, closing my eyes as he gently worked his way down to the cut on my bottom lip. The tip of his tongue probed across the cut and the anesthetic effect of his saliva was soothing. The moment was broken when he stopped and I opened my eyes to stare up at him.

  Conal was gazing at me, his pitch black eyes burning with emotion and tension visible in the ticking muscle of his jaw. I returned his gaze, a multitude of emotions assaulting me from all sides. The feelings I experienced were not just relief and comfort.

  “I want to kiss you,” he admitted huskily and there was tenderness in his expression, a softness I hadn't seen before. The look a man gives a woman when he wants her. He continued to gaze at me silently, my confused face reflecting back at me in his eyes as he waited for my response.

  It was impossible to speak, to vocalize anything when I was choked by the emotions roiling through me. I was frightened, I was tired, and I was scared. In the midst of those emotions, there was something else, feelings for this man who held me so securely in his arms, who was doing everything he could, to try and keep me alive. This was a man who was willing to risk his own life to help me. Unable to find any words to express myself, I nodded hesitantly.

  He dropped his head and his tongue pressed against my lower lip, pressing tiny licks against the split. When he was satisfied, he captured my mouth against his own in a smooth motion, his lips warm and soft. He kissed me gently, with exquisite tenderness and when he brushed his tongue across my lips, I opened instinctively for him.

  I flicked my tongue across his teeth tentatively, desire flaring to life low in my groin as I explored his mouth with mine. Conal groaned and deepened the kiss, pulling me closer to him and his heat radiated through my thin dress. I wrapped my arms around his neck, aware of nothing that mattered, other than to have this man kiss me. His hand snaked upwards from my waist until he was cupping my breast in his palm, rubbing my nipple tenderly with his thumb as he kissed me over and over. I was aware of how much he desired me, knew I wanted him just as much. I trailed across his shoulder with my fingertips, drawing a path down to his chest, slipping my hand inside his open shirt. I found one hard nipple and rolled it between my thumb and forefinger, delighted by the way it made him react and he moaned into my mouth. His lips were so warm, so incredibly soft—

  Reality hit me like a steam train and I wrenched away from him, crouching in the corner like a frightened rabbit. “I'm sorry, this is wrong, I shouldn't be…” My voice trailed off uncertainly and I cringed.

  Conal smiled tenderly. The look in his eyes confirmed he was being subjected to the same rush of hormones as I had. “I should be apologizing, Charlotte. I shouldn't have done that. You're in love with the leech.”

  I nodded miserably. Shame and horror at what I'd done flooded over my psyche and I wrapped my arms around chest, trying to hold myself together. How could I have let that happen? What was I thinking? I loved Lucas, loved him with all my heart. But Lucas might be dead, my traitorous mind whispered. I shook myself physically, unwilling to believe Lucas could be gone forever and reprimanding myself for even considering the possibility. Even if he was gone, how could I kiss another man? Worse still – I'd enjoyed it. The guilt wrapped itself around my mind; like ivy, it strangled my soul.

  And then, I heard the footsteps.

  Chapter 7: Transformation

  The pain was unbearable. I knew Conal was probing as lightly as he possibly could, but the pain was intolerable, excruciating. My head was going to explode, I thought my skull would split open at any moment and I wanted to die. I'd passed out before Conal removed his fingers from my temples and woke in the cold room that was our prison.

  Conal lay on the floor, he was unconscious and had been badly beaten, one of his eyes swollen shut, visible skin black and blue. There were a multitude of claw marks across his back and shoulders and he groaned when I tried to drag him towards the mattress. It was physically impossible to move him, so I busied myself cleaning the multitude of cuts and grazes that had been inflicted on his body.

  I hadn't come out of our session with Armstrong in much better shape. My shoulder ached from a punch Armstrong had meted out and there was another angry graze on my cheek. Armstrong had hit me across the head with his claws extended, resulting in a deep gash on my forehead. I had bruising on my throat where he'd gripped me tightly while Conal probed my mind. Tears rolled unchecked down my cheeks as I cleaned the bloody mess that was Conal's back, wondering how much more of this we could survive.

  When Conal woke up, he drew me into his arms and held me close. There seemed no way out of this predicament, no way to survive what Armstrong was do
ing to us. Conal stood up, lifting me effortlessly in his arms, laying me gently onto the filthy mattress before lying beside me, enclosing me in the circle of his arms. I lay my head against his chest and moaned quietly. A headache was pulsing through my temples, with no way of relieving it. I would have given a million dollars for some Tylenol and wondered if Conal's probing had caused damage, whether the pain was a signal of some underlying injury deep within my brain.

  Hours passed, hours spent cradled in one another's arms and waiting for the sound of approaching footsteps that would begin the next round of torture. Little was said between us, I was certain we would die here and suspected Conal would agree with me. Although I'd hoped and prayed for Lucas and the others to find us, it seemed increasingly likely they'd been killed by Armstrong's men back in Montana. My resolute determination to believe they were alive seemed more improbable as the hours wore on. Hope was fading, although a tiny corner of my mind kept reminding me that Lucas was strong, and if there was any way of him finding me, he would. But there seemed to be no hope of survival now. If Armstrong insisted on Conal probing my mind again, it would kill me.

  Hours later, the footsteps did approach and the door was thrust open. It was Armstrong himself who stood in the doorway, staring at us lying on the mattress together. He laughed derisively and sauntered further into the room. “How cozy. The werewolf and his whore. It seems you've gotten very friendly with one another.” Two guards stood behind him, guns drawn at the ready.

  Conal remained quiet and I wondered what was behind this visit. Why was Armstrong down here, when normally we were dragged upstairs? Armstrong crouched beside us and leered at me. “Such a waste, you're such a pretty little thing. I would have been delighted to keep you.” He glanced at the window, although I knew full well, there was nothing to be seen through it. “Full moon tonight, Tremaine. As you proud werewolves keep telling me, you only change at full moon. An hour or two from now, you'll have to transform, you'll feel the urge deep within your soul and be unable to avoid it.” He stood up abruptly, gripping a handful of my hair and yanking me up with him.

  I shrieked as a handful of my hair was ripped out by the roots, and he held me so his face was only inches from mine. “This is your last chance, you stubborn bitch!” Armstrong growled. “Tell me what I want to know! I know you have powers far greater than the wolf has let on; I know he's tried to keep the truth from me. Tell me the truth – right now – or I'll leave you in here while he transforms.”

  With my teeth gritted, I stared into his eyes defiantly and knew I was signing my own death sentence. “My name is Charlotte Duncan. I'm an artist. I don't know what you're talking about.”

  This time he didn't bother with any niceties when he hit me. He punched my stomach, knocking the wind out of my lungs and I slumped to the ground, stars flickering in my peripheral vision as I rolled into a protective ball. Armstrong kicked my back half a dozen times for good measure, uttering a tirade of expletives with each blow.

  Conal roared gutturally and launched himself off the mattress, aiming for Armstrong's throat with his large hands. Armstrong was too quick for him, dodging to one side. The two guards joined Armstrong in beating Conal, kicking, and punching him until he lay motionless on the ground.

  Seemingly satisfied with himself, Armstrong stepped back from Conal's battered body, wiping his hands against his trousers to remove Conal's blood from his skin. His attention turned to me and I whimpered. “I can see this is one situation where I'm not going to win, you dumb bitch.” He knelt beside me, extending his claws and a frisson of fear trickled up my spine. “I could have given you anything you'd wanted, if you would have just cooperated. Now though, I'm going to leave you here with your buddy, Conal. He'll transform in an hour or two, won't be able to stop himself. Nothing will please me more, than to come in here tomorrow morning and see bits of you splattered all over the damn room. Then I'm going to kill Tremaine and every single member of his pack. And it will be your entire damn fault.” In a movement I could barely distinguish, he brought his hand down and across my chest, ripping the skin with his extended claws. “There. That'll give your fuck buddy the scent of blood. He won't be able to resist it.”

  He stood up, grinning as he admired his macabre handiwork. Blood was spurting from where he'd ripped my skin open and I could feel it, warm as it trickled down over my breasts and ribs. In a last act of defiance, I continued to stare at him, refusing to be cowed by his bullying. He turned on his heel and stepped through the open door, the guards following behind and they slammed the door shut, turning the key in the lock.

  When they'd left, I stared down at my chest in mounting horror. He'd torn my skin open from my left collarbone to my left breast. Sobbing wretchedly, I grabbed a handful of material from the bottom or my ruined dress and pulled it up, putting pressure on the wound to try and slow the flow of blood.

  Clutching the material to my chest, I crawled across to where Conal lay, very still and worryingly silent. For one horrible moment I thought he was dead, but with relief, I saw the steady movement of his lungs moving up and down. I fell against him, wrapping an arm around him as I waited for death. Although it was obviously useless, I ran through the mantra in my mind, over and over again.

  Conal regained consciousness sometime later and I could tell he was fast approaching the time when he would transform. His eyes were more animal-like and despite the beating he'd taken, he was filled with nervous energy, which radiated from his skin like a mild electrical current.

  “What happened?” His voice was low, filled with pain.

  “He's left me in here, so you'll kill me when you change into a werewolf,” I explained dully. “Then he's going to kill you. And then he's going to kill your pack.”

  Conal gazed at me, eyes filled with disbelief. “Are you serious? After all this, he's willing to let you die because he didn't get what he wanted?”

  “He's angry, I guess he figures he'll cut his losses and get rid of us.” I was beyond caring. If this was the way it had to be, so be it.

  Conal's attention moved to the clump of material I was still clasping to my chest and he sat up abruptly. With a groan, he held his head between his hands. “Fuck. I feel like I've been hit by an eighteen wheeler.”

  “You look like you've been hit by an eighteen wheeler,” I agreed wearily. I painfully pulled myself into a sitting position beside him.

  Conal reached for me, carefully moving my hand and peeling the blood-soaked cloth away from my skin. His eyes widened when he saw the shredded mess Armstrong had made of my chest. “That bastard. I'll kill him myself!”

  “Great. You can get onto that, straight after you've eaten me.” I giggled wildly, the sound bordering on hysterical as it echoed through the empty room.

  “Charlotte.” Conal pulled me onto his lap, cradling me tenderly in his arms. “Charlotte, listen to me. I'm going to try to remain human and keep myself from transforming. I'll have to use all my strength, every ounce of willpower to stop it from happening.” He drew a deep breath and gasped with pain. “I need you to remind me of who you are. Do you understand me?” He captured my chin between his thumb and forefinger, drawing my face up until our eyes met. “I need you,” he leaned forward and kissed my lips softly, “to remind me of why I can't transform. Remind me of who you are; how important you are to me and why it's imperative I stay human so I don't hurt you.”

  I stared at him, nodding tentatively. I understood what he meant, knew from the look in his black eyes that this was more than just him wanting to save me. This was an emotional bond, a depth of emotion that was beyond what he should be feeling for me. If I was honest with myself, I was experiencing the same emotions. The thought would have shocked me, made me consider my moral values, if I wasn't so terrified.

  “Good girl. If we get through this, when that bastard opens the door in the morning I'm going to transform and rip his fucking throat out. And when I do, I want you to run, run, and find somewhere to hide from me until I can tr
ansform back. Find a cupboard, a wardrobe, preferably something that can be locked to try and keep you safe. When I revert to human form, I'll come and find you and I'm going to get you out of here.”

  I nodded, too traumatized to speak.

  “Charlotte, I know you don't want to hear this. I know you love the bloodsucker. But I'm going to say it anyway. I love you. I think I've loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I don't want to kill you, but I need to think you love me back. Just for tonight. Just so, we can get through this. Okay?” He rubbed his fingers tenderly across my cheek, his dark eyes piercing. “Tell me you love me; remind me of why I love you, what I'm doing this for.”

  I reached towards him tentatively, rubbing my fingers across his bruised face. “I love you,” I whispered huskily. “I love you, Conal.”

  And God help me, it was the truth.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his whole body shuddering with the effort. “Good girl.” With tremendous exertion, he maneuvered us both onto the mattress, then wrapped his arms around me, and held me firmly against his body. Lowering his head, he removed the material from my chest and stared at the shredded skin for a minute, before he began to lick near my collarbone hesitantly. He was cautious, as if he expected I would tell him to stop. I shut my eyes, forcing myself to talk to him as he helped heal the wound. “I love you, Conal. I want you to hold me and kiss me. I want you to remember my scent, remember the feel of me in your arms.”

  His arms tightened around me and he became more confident as he licked deep into the wounds, the movement of his tongue against the damaged skin making me wince. And still I continued to talk to him, my hands rubbing back and forth over warm skin that emitted a subtle energy as his need to transform grew.

  Every minute seemed as if it lasted an hour, every passing second made it apparent how much of a struggle this was for Conal, how painful it was to try and halt something which didn't want to be stopped. He continued licking at my wounds and trembles emanated from deep within his body as he fought against becoming a werewolf. Occasionally, he moaned softly, stiffening as he battled against what was for him, a natural adaptation from human to beast. When it seemed it would become impossible for him to continue, I reached up and kissed him, probing his mouth soothingly with my own and he would calm again, breathing deeply against my skin as if it reminded him of what he was doing.