The Lure of the Wolf

by Jennifer St Giles

  “Pathos! Thank God.”

  “We’re being attacked.”

  “What is happening? Luis should have already returned, we must help him,” Samir said.

  Pathos couldn’t detect any overt mutiny in their expressions. They genuinely thought he was here to save them.

  “We are under attack,” Cinatas said, moving to Pathos’s side. “From within the order, it would seem.”

  Shocked denials echoed through the chamber.

  “Who would dare?” demanded Samir.

  “Vasquez and you three, perhaps?” Pathos suggested.

  The Vladarians blanched.

  “No!”

  “We are here to buy Elan blood!”

  “Vasquez has promised to sell to us. He is getting the blood now…”

  “Did not my son and I promise that the transfusions will be as they were before?” Pathos demanded.

  “Yes, but…surely Vasquez has not betrayed you. He is angry and will—”

  “Do you think we lie?” He stalked toward the Vladarians, sniffing for the scent of guilty fear. After passing by them all, he curved his fleshy lips with satisfaction.

  “Then you won’t mind me watching you torture Vasquez into nonexistence for his betrayal. I’m sure each of you has a fate worse than death to share with everyone else. This is a fair judgment for betrayal of the order, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t wait for their murmured replies. Once they’d tortured one of their own, they’d be forced to staunchly support Cinatas’s rule; without Cinatas’s protection, they’d be food for the other Vladarians. He sent Cinatas an amused glance. “You’ll wait with them, make sure they each have a hand in Vasquez’s demise, while I go take care of a little problem?”

  “It will be my pleasure,” Cinatas said.

  Pathos turned to Nyros before leaving. “Find Vasquez’s cowardly ass and drag it back here.”

  Then he went hunting. The tangy smells of battle permeated the air—smoke, chaos, charred mortal flesh, and the sweetness of spilled Elan blood. Aragon was out in that battle, and Pathos was going to find him. He headed in the direction of the north gate, where Aragon’s scent had been the strongest.

  Traveling up the white gravel road, he found the spot where the imprint of the Blood Hunters was heavy, and where the surrounding vegetation lay crushed and broken as if there’d been a skirmish. Trapped in that mortal vehicle Cinatas insisted on using, he’d driven right by and hadn’t even smelled them.

  The scent led to the west, into the jungle. The moment he stepped into the cover of the trees and out of the rain, he caught a sweet aroma drifting on the light breeze, and his loins swelled. Aragon hadn’t come to the jungle alone. The good Dr. Batista was very, very near. He loved the way fate played right into his hands.

  Aragon ran to the burning building with Jared on his heels. Even with his were-strengths, it appeared to be impossible to reach the upper level of the tower—not with so much of the building on fire. The smoke escaping through the tower windows was choking and thick. It would be a miracle if Stefanie were alive.

  He latched on to the side of the building, punching handholds in the plaster as flames lashed painfully at his skin, burning through the thickness of his hair, blistering and searing his flesh. He kept climbing higher.

  Jared waited below. Someone would have to be able to carry Stefanie out of the compound if, when he finished, Aragon’s injuries were too great.

  In the very top room, he ripped the bars from the window and found a single woman crumpled upon the floor next to it. He lifted her up, shuddering not only from the pain of his burns but from the scorching heat of her body. Even her clothes seemed to be smoking from the inferno she’d been trapped in.

  As soon as he saw her face he knew it was Stefanie, a softer, more delicate version of Annette. “Stefanie!” he yelled to her, shaking her. I have her, he told Jared, who waited below.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “You came,” she whispered. “Save Marissa. Too late for me.”

  Her body trembled badly. He could feel the flutter of her heart grow fainter.

  “No!” he yelled at Logos, fate, anything that might be listening. “This will not be!” He tried to send a part of himself into her to help heal her, but although her heart struggled a little harder, it wasn’t enough to save her.

  “Stefanie!” he shouted, trying to reach her fading spirit with his as he tightened his arms around her. He’d failed. She was dying, and he’d failed. He’d lost the power to heal, was becoming more and more a faded warrior.

  Annette paced and cursed. She’d agreed before coming that she didn’t have to enter the compound. Hell, it had been one of her bargaining chips. But she hadn’t counted on being left in the dark of the forest with a heavy gun in one hand, a flare in the other, and not being able to see what was happening at the compound. What was Pathos doing here with armed men? Was he after Stefanie?

  Annette’s stomach cramped at the thought. Had Aragon and Jared found Stefanie first? Was her sister really alive after all this time? She could hear the explosions. And screams. The explosives were just a diversion. There weren’t supposed to be screams.

  A foolish supposition on her part. Anytime you used guns and bombs, people got hurt. She knew there was aid she could give, but also knew it would be the height of stupidity to rush into the compound totally ignorant of the setup, no matter how her medical training and her heart urged her to act. She’d help more of the injured by waiting, but that didn’t make it easier.

  The snap of a branch brought her whipping around. Aragon’s name died on her lips.

  “Pathos,” she breathed.

  He smiled.

  The chill went to her core. She didn’t move, but tightened her hand on the heavy pistol as she wondered if bullets had any effect on werewolves, though he wasn’t in wolf form right now. Was there anything that stopped werewolves dead in their tracks?

  Legend would suggest silver, and she didn’t have an ounce on her.

  The comforting warmth of Aragon’s amulet hung between her breasts, but she didn’t dare interrupt the rescue. And even if she could call Aragon to her, she wouldn’t, not with him weakened by the Underling fever.

  She was on her own with a flare, a gun that might or might not do anything to him, and a pack of drugs hanging on her shoulder. If she ran, he’d catch her in a flash. She sat down, set the flare and gun close to her, and slipped the pack of drugs into her lap. “So what brings you to the jungle?”

  Apparently having expected her to run, scream, or attack, Pathos hesitated before lifting a brow and replying. “Decided to take a walk and smelled something very sweet.”

  She flipped opened the medical field kit, her brain scrambling for a solution, her heart pounding. “I’ve noticed that the jungle has a variety of flowers, all pretty, usually sweet-smelling, but I hear some are deadly.” Annette pulled out the silver sulfadiazine burn cream and the silver nitrate eyedrops.

  “You know there is nothing that can stop me. And if you’re thinking about eliminating yourself, forget it.”

  “Nothing so dramatic. Just putting on some hand cream. These jungle walks can be rough on your skin.” Annette slid open the cream and rubbed some on her hands and face, wishing she could take a bath in the stuff as she eyed Pathos. Where would he be most vulnerable to the silver solutions? “Doctors train themselves to make the best of bad situations. You’ve got me. So what’s next? Should I take my clothes off?”

  Pathos laughed. “Please do.”

  She pulled off her shirt, leaving her lace bra on, and rubbed more cream over her arms and torso. When she finished she made sure she had a blob of extra cream in the palm of her hand. Then she stood, secreting the silver nitrate drops in the back waistband of her underwear, and unsnapped her jeans. Why wasn’t Pathos advancing toward her? Why wasn’t he attacking?

  Annette. Aragon called out to her just as her hand moved to the zipper of her pants. Her heart hammered. She didn’t dare answer, yet. He w
ould know something was wrong. She had to hurry. She picked up the gun to distract Pathos with as she walked to him. “Do you want to render me helpless like last time? Does that make you feel all he-man were-wolfish?”

  Annette!

  She pushed Aragon from her mind. She had to do this. Silver solutions had to have some effect on werewolves.

  “We’ll get to that eventually. When we’ve more time.” Pathos’s gaze zeroed in on the see-through lace of her bra, and his smile widened. “I wouldn’t use the gun if I were you, unless you happen to be packing silver bullets. It’s only going to make me very angry, and I might hurt you then. Take off the rest, then turn around and bend over.”

  Annette smiled, moving to Pathos’s feet. Kneeling in front of him, she reached for his zipper. “Why don’t you show me what you have? Let me feel it with my hands first.”

  Aragon felt Stefanie’s heart stop and a coldness begin. Cut to the quick to have come so far only to lose her spirit at the last moment, his spirit cried out with rage. He had to get Stefanie to Annette, to the magic of her medicine. He yelled for Annette, but received no answer.

  No! Help me save her! Aragon’s mind shouted, crying to the spirit realm, to anyone who could hear him.

  The fiery spirit of Sirius the Pyrathian shimmered before him. “I caused you harm, Aragon of the Blood Hunters. I was wrong. Keep this one safe, brother. She is special,” Sirius said, his tone completely unlike that of the angry warrior Aragon had faced a short time ago. Sirius reached out and touched his fiery hand to Stefanie’s heart. Then, before Aragon could even thank the Pyrathian, he suddenly disappeared, as if he’d lost all power to appear within the mortal realm. Stefanie gasped. He heart thudded once, then again and again. Each beat grew stronger and stronger. She began coughing at the amount of smoke choking them. Aragon stepped out onto the window ledge. It was farther than he’d ever jumped before, but he didn’t hesitate.

  He landed with a jarring thud and would have lost his hold on Stefanie, but Jared stepped over to help steady them.

  “She needs Annette’s medicine,” he told Jared.

  Jared nodded. “Take her. I can free the rest.”

  As Aragon turned, the woman he’d spoken to, who’d been helping the invalid, stumbled up to him. “Is she all right?”

  “She needs help,” Aragon said.

  “I will come with you to help.” She wobbled on her feet. “Please, por favor, you must take me with Stefanie. El Diablo, my uncle, will kill me. I can walk, see?” She took several unsteady steps. “I am Marissa Vasquez. Please do not leave me behind.”

  Aragon didn’t have time to deliberate. Stefanie must have meant this woman in her whispered plea. He knelt down beside the woman with Stefanie still cradled in his arms. “Grab my neck and hold on tightly,” he told her.

  Her sigh of relief was so great that she appeared as if she too were going to lose consciousness.

  The woman leaned against his back, locking her arms about his neck. He winced from his burns. A battle cry from red demons rose above the chaos, a sound Aragon never imagined he would hear upon the mortal ground. And a spray of bullets hit the building, sending chips of concrete and dust flying into the smoky air.

  Aragon broke into a run, pumping his way back through the shattered gate amid the thick screen of smoke.

  Annette! He reached out to her with his mind, but no answer returned to him. Annette! He pushed harder with his mind and suddenly slammed up against her attempt to push back. In that second, he registered the fearful thud of her heart and the wrenching of her spirit. Something was very wrong. Then it hit him. Pathos. Not once amid the shouts and screams at the compound had Aragon heard or scented Pathos.

  Rushing to the north, Aragon crossed the path he and Jared had taken to meet Annette and Sam earlier. Pathos’s scent clung to the vegetation and filled Aragon with anxious rage. He knelt, lowering both the woman on his back and Stefanie to the ground.

  “You must wait here with her. There is danger ahead. I will be back.” He left the instant the woman released her hold on his neck, not even taking time to answer her desperate questions as to what the danger was.

  Pathos watched Annette unsnap and unzip his pants. He wasn’t fool enough to believe the good doctor had resigned herself to her fate, but he still hadn’t picked up on her angle yet, and the puzzle intrigued him.

  His bulging sex spilled out from the confines of his pants. Her eyes widened, but it was the conquering smile on her face that had him reacting fast. He grabbed her hair, jerking her back from him hard enough to scare the hell out of her, but not enough to break her neck. Not yet.

  She cried out and swung at his sex, smearing a white cream over his penis from stem to stern, then blinked expectantly up at him as if he was supposed to melt or something. Had she tried to poison him with something from her arsenal of medicines? He laughed at her failed attempt.

  “Open your mouth,” he demanded, jerking on her hair, snatching her his way.

  Mouth clamped shut, she pivoted and tried to lunge away from him, pulling strands of her hair.

  Suddenly, his penis began to itch, then burn as if doused in liquid fire. He grabbed at his sex with his other hand, trying to swipe off the cream and hold on to her at the same time. The burn worsened. And his hand began to itch and burn, too.

  “What in the hell did you do?” he screamed, throwing her to the ground as he whirled into his were-form, where his regenerative abilities were the strongest. He’d take her as a wolf and kill her in the process. He lunged for her, determined to assuage the burn of his penis by violating her every way he could.

  Holy hell. I should have used the gun, Annette thought, trying to gain her feet as she scrambled away from Pathos. His roar of rage shook the jungle. The silver in the burn cream wasn’t enough to melt him like water did the Wicked Witch of the West, just enough to piss him off worse than ever before. She was going to die. She’d gambled and lost.

  I love you, Aragon. No matter what! Her heart cried, filling her with something that transcended what was happening at the moment. Something greater than herself, and greater than the evil.

  She’d fight to the end. She pulled the silver nitrate drops from the waistband of her pants. Though a measly 1 percent, an eyeful of it ought to do him good. Too bad she hadn’t thought of making up a lethal injection of a silver solution ahead of time. Before she could get the top off, Pathos landed on her, knocking her flat on her face. The weight of his were-form crushed her into the ground. Dirt filled her mouth. She couldn’t breathe.

  Crashing through the foliage, Aragon’s soul chilled at the rage echoing in Pathos’s howl. Annette’s cry reached him, and he burst through to find Pathos on top of her, one hand closing around her neck as he ripped at her pants.

  Leaping, Aragon wrapped his hands around Pathos’s throat, jerking him away from Annette as he twisted his body hard, trying to snap Pathos’s spine. Pathos rolled with him, roaring, arching to claw him off. Aragon held on, tightening his hold on Pathos’s neck, shoving his knee against the werewolf’s spine. His muscles quivered, and a sweat broke out all over his body as never before.

  “Run to Jared,” Aragon commanded Annette, who had gained her feet and backed away from them. He could tell a marked difference in his strength from when he’d fought Pathos before at Sno-Med that first night. He’d weakened, and Pathos knew it. A triumphant growl burst from Pathos as he threw Aragon off.

  Aragon slammed into a tree, cracking its trunk. His breath exploded from him. Sharp needles of pain ripped up his side, and his vision blurred. Before he could recover, Pathos hit him again with a bone-breaking kick to his chest, making the pain in his side worse. Aragon shifted as he gained his feet, ready to grab Pathos at the next kick, knowing that his old mentor would keep hitting at the same point of weakness he’d gouged into Aragon.

  But Pathos had found an even weaker point. He was attacking Annette again. He had her by the hair and was dragging her toward Aragon as he clawed off her bra
, leaving bleeding marks over her skin. “I’m going to take her and kill her right in front of you, and you’ve not the power to stop me,” Pathos taunted. But instead of standing at his full were-height, Pathos was crouched over as he dragged Annette, who twisted and pulled, trying to fight him.

  Aragon launched himself toward them, feinting as if he were going to hit Pathos low. Pathos laughed and went to kick Aragon. Aragon twisted at the last moment, shifting his focus from Pathos to Annette. He grabbed the rope of her hair that Pathos held and jerked it free as he kicked the bottom of Pathos’s foot, knocking him off balance. Then Aragon rolled with Annette, feeling an odd burn where his body touched her skin.

  She shoved something at him. “Silver,” she said.

  He shook his head as he rose to attack Pathos. “Keep it and run, and keep running no matter what,” he told her, putting himself between her and Pathos. If he failed, she might need it.

  “Won’t run, no matter what. You might need me,” she said, snatching her shirt from the ground.

  Aragon cursed, loving and hating her stubborn devotion, but he didn’t have time to argue. As he expected, Pathos was stalking toward them, but oddly he had one hand pressed to his genitals as if in great pain. More wolf than man, with a tail and protruding snout, he was now a caricature of a Blood Hunter. He had no stature of truth, or shimmering cloak, or fluid, muscular grace.

  “She’s mine, and you’re both dead. No woman silvers my dick and lives.”

  Aragon sent Annette a quick glance, amazed, and drew strength from her undaunted spirit and from deep within himself. She’d put on her shirt and stood ready to help battle. He might be weaker than Pathos, and he might be fading, but he still had heart and the courage to choose right, and a warrior woman by his side. “Think again, Pathos. It’s your turn to face Judgment Day.”

  Aragon charged. Pathos’s hold on his genitals set his counterattack off center, giving Aragon the edge he needed. He plowed Pathos back so hard that the protruding edge of a branch pierced Pathos’s left shoulder. Roaring with rage, Pathos ripped free and went for Aragon’s throat. Aragon got his hands around Pathos’s first. They rolled to the ground, and Aragon managed to get on top, gaining the edge.