Wolf Hunger

by Paige Tyler

  Nora sighed. “That was Hal’s idea. I thought he was simply being an overprotective father, but now I realize he must have figured out you and your team are like Lana and was worried that being with Max would undo years of therapy and that the nightmares would come back along with the claws and fangs.”

  Max would have liked to say he disapproved of what the deputy chief had done, but he probably would have done the same thing if he thought it would protect the person he loved.

  On the other side of the table, Nora looked at Gage. “These men who assaulted Hal, the ones looking for Lana—they kill people simply because they’re werewolves even if they’ve never harmed anyone?”

  Gage nodded, his jaw tight. “These hunters have killed dozens of werewolves. They’ve murdered others, like Lana’s roommate in Austin, simply because they’ve made a mistake or were looking for information. They’re vicious and cold-blooded serial killers.”

  Nora frowned, her gaze going to Max. “But you’ll protect Lana and keep her safe?”

  Max entwined his fingers with Lana’s. “I swear that I’ll never let anything or anyone hurt your daughter.”

  “Good.” Nora looked at Gage. “And you’ll find the men who did this to Hal and make sure they never do it to anyone else again?”

  “We’ll find them,” Gage promised.

  Chapter 12

  “I really don’t think I need this much protection,” Lana complained as Max, Zane, Brooks, and Trey followed her into her parents’ house.

  She would rather not have come at all, but her mother needed a prescription she took daily as well as a few other personal items. Lana figured she could use some stuff, too, since now the plan was for her to stay at the SWAT compound until the hunters could be caught. She hadn’t packed very much when she’d left in a huff the other day, and Max said there weren’t a whole lot of creature comforts there. Brooks had volunteered to pick up what she and her mom needed, but Lana didn’t really feel like having the big SWAT guy going through her panty drawer. Besides, it wasn’t likely the hunters would come back here, especially in broad daylight.

  “We’re not going to let anything happen to the newest member of our Pack,” Zane said in that charming British accent of his. “So you might as well get used to it.”

  “Just think of us as the four big brothers you never had,” Brooks added.

  “Well, three brothers and a boyfriend,” Trey clarified, his blue eyes serious. “Otherwise, the analogy is a little creepy.”

  Lana couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe it was the whole Pack thing, but it felt like these guys were already her brothers. Really tall, really muscular brothers. Having Max around made her feel safe, but having these other guys wasn’t bad for backup.

  Her sense of humor faded as soon as she stepped through the front door of her parents’ place and saw the crime scene tape and broken furniture. Max quickly hustled her upstairs, but it was too late. The signs of violence—and the smell of her father’s blood—were impossible to miss. Her fangs and claws strained to come out, though she had no idea what she would do with the weapons if they did. It wasn’t like the hunters were around for her to slice to ribbons.

  “Why do my claws and fangs tingle every time I get upset, angry, excited, or scared?” she asked Max as they headed upstairs to her old bedroom. Brooks and the other guys stayed downstairs to keep an eye out for Boyd and the other hunters.

  “It’s an instinct thing,” Max said, following her into the room that didn’t look very different than it had when she’d left for college.

  Her mom had insisted on keeping it the way Lana liked for those occasions when she came home from school. Lana hadn’t done it that often, something she regretted now.

  “Think of it as a fight-or-flight response,” Max added. “Any of the strong emotions you mentioned flood your body with chemicals. Your inner werewolf doesn’t have a clue why you’re geeked up; it only knows you are. So it prepares you for both possibilities—running or fighting. Normally, a werewolf would have learned how to control that stuff early on, but in your case, you’re just picking it up now.”

  Lana was still trying to get this whole alpha, beta, omega thing straight—Max had spent a lot of time explaining it to her last night while her father had been in surgery. She still had a bunch of questions, but they could wait until later. Right now she wanted to pick up her stuff, drop it off at the compound, then get back to the hospital. She didn’t like being away so long. Her father’s surgery had gone well last night, but he was in an induced coma to help his body recover. It was scary to think about him being kept under like that, but she knew it was the best thing for him.

  “So, you changed into a werewolf when your dad shot you. I changed because of the car wreck,” Lana said as she packed some extra socks in a small suitcase. Max had mentioned that the floors of the compound were hard and cold. “I’m guessing werewolves don’t get created from warm, fuzzy situations?”

  Max shook his head. “Afraid not. As I understand it, the werewolf gene only flips on as a result of a major traumatic event, usually involving the release of large amounts of adrenaline, cortisol, and other stress hormones. I’ve never met a werewolf, regardless of breed, who turned because of a pleasant event.”

  She and Max were still talking about that as they rejoined the other SWAT officers downstairs.

  “Got everything?” Brooks asked.

  At her nod, Zane opened the door, leading the way outside. The moment they stepped onto the porch, Max and the others immediately tensed. She barely had time to register the black SUV pulling away from the curb across the street before all four of them closed around her like a shield, almost crushing her.

  She opened her mouth to ask if it was the hunters, but the words never got out as the front windows of her parents’ home exploded around her. Then she was being pushed to the ground and covered with a solid weight as shots were fired over her head and tires squealed. Her teeth and claws extended as her nose filled with the horrible stench of the hunters’ acrid perfume. They were using the same bullets they’d used downtown.

  When the weight lifted off her, she looked up to see Brooks and Trey hauling ass down the street after the black SUV as it rounded the corner at the end of the block. Max was heading that way, too, but he was well behind the other guys, probably because he’d been the one on top of her, protecting her with his body.

  Lana scrambled to her feet, every instinct screaming at her to chase the vehicle, too, and help catch the men so they couldn’t hurt anyone ever again, but then she caught movement on the other side of the porch. She looked over to see Zane drop to his knees, one hand clutching his left bicep, blood pouring from between his fingers.

  “Max!” she shouted. “Zane’s been hit!”

  Zane howled, and Lana could practically feel the gut-wrenching pain underlying the primal sound. It was the most soul-searing thing she’d ever heard.

  She raced to his side to find him shifting, his body convulsing as his upper canines bit through his lower lip. She grabbed the hand he had clamped to his arm, trying to see how bad the wound was, but he refused to loosen his grip and she couldn’t make him. He was too strong for her.

  The familiar stench of the hunter’s perfume hit her then. Crap, Zane had been hit by one of those bullets. If it stung as much as her skin had when Boyd spritzed it on her, it had to be painful as hell.

  She was still trying to get Zane to let her take a look at the wound when Max and Trey ran onto the porch. They kneeled beside her to check on Zane, who was grinding his fangs together in an attempt to hold back another howl of pain.

  “What the hell happened?” Trey asked as he tried to pry Zane’s fingers away from the wound. Lana swore she heard bones breaking as Trey worked, but she doubted the other werewolf even felt it.

  “They shot him,” she said, helping Trey by grabbing Zane’s right arm and trying to hold
it down. Max got a grip on the left, and between the two of them, they finally restrained him.

  Trey scowled as he tore the entire sleeve of Zane’s uniform off, exposing the wound. “We get shot all the time. A bullet to the arm should be a joke.”

  “It’s not the bullet that’s the problem. It’s the stuff the hunters put in the bullet,” Lana told him. “Can’t you smell it?”

  Trey leaned forward to sniff the wound, then quickly recoiled, his eyes watering. “What the hell is it?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, practically yelling to be heard over Zane’s growl. “But when that guy sprayed it on my arm, it felt like lava. I washed it off within seconds but it still left a burn mark that lasted for two days.”

  The sound of footsteps on the porch made her look up. Brooks stood there, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath, his blue-gray eyes filled with concern as Zane continued to writhe in pain.

  “We have to go,” he said. “Neighbors are starting to come out to see what the hell all this noise is about. Can we move him?”

  Trey and Max exchanged looks, clearly torn at the idea of moving Zane, who was going through uncontrollable shifts now.

  “We have to do something,” Trey said, his words coming out way calmer than Lana felt. “I need to get the bullet out and probably flush the wound to get rid of the poison.”

  “I’ll carry him,” Brooks said.

  Lana immediately moved out of the way along with Max and Trey. Despite how much Zane was thrashing around, Brooks easily picked him up. Lana and Max ran ahead and lowered the backseat of the SUV so Trey would have room to work. Brooks set Zane down as carefully as he could, then stepped back to let Trey climb in.

  “I’ll drive,” Max said, running around to the front of the SUV.

  Lana moved to join him, but Trey stopped her.

  “I need you back here with me,” Trey said as he grabbed his medical bag. “You too, Brooks. I can’t work on Zane with him thrashing around this much.”

  Ignoring the curious neighbors coming out of their houses, she and Brooks climbed into the back of the big SWAT vehicle and held on as Max jumped behind the wheel and squealed out of her parents’ driveway.

  Lana glanced back at her parents’ house as they drove away, staring at the blown-out windows and bullet holes. The weekender of stuff she’d come to collect that had seemed so important a little while ago was still lying on the porch, forgotten. Zane had been shot over nothing.

  “Do we take him to the compound?” Max asked.

  “No,” Trey shouted back. “Head for Saunders’s private clinic. This is more than we can deal with in the kitchen of our barracks.”

  She had no idea where this private clinic was, but she hoped they could get there quickly.

  “Lana, I need you to hold Zane down while I get the bullet out,” Trey said. “Normally, something like this would be a piece of cake, but now, I’m not so sure.”

  She climbed around Brooks, which took a little doing. The guy was so big he took up the majority of the space back there. Clearly, the manufacturer had never planned to have this many alpha werewolves in the back of one of their SUVs.

  Lana climbed on top of Zane’s legs, holding them with her body weight, then leaning forward to latch on to his right hand in an effort to keep his flailing claws from tearing anyone apart.

  “Brooks, we could really use your help here,” Trey grated out as he tried to hold Zane’s left arm and cut into the man’s triceps at the same time.

  “Hold on,” Brooks said. “I’m getting Doc Saunders on the phone. I’m hoping he has a clue what the hell we should do.”

  When he got through to the doctor, he flipped the speaker on, then threw himself across Zane’s chest. “Trey, do that paramedic shit of yours and start talking. I’ll keep him still.”

  “Doc, Zane took a bullet to the arm that was filled with poison of some kind,” Trey said. “The wound isn’t serious, but it’s causing him major problems.”

  “Describe major problems,” a calm voice responded from the other end of the line.

  Easy for him to be calm, Lana thought. He wasn’t holding on to a thrashing 240-pound ball of claw-covered muscles who was bleeding and in pain.

  “He’s nearly unconscious, but his body is going through spasm shifts, back and forth from one form to another. I’ve even got some fur growth going on, and Zane has never come close to achieving full wolf form.”

  Lana looked at Brooks in shock, but he shook his head. “Later.”

  “He’s been convulsing nonstop since getting hit, and his heart is racing like crazy,” Trey continued. “He’s sweating like hell, too.”

  “Have you gotten the bullet out yet?” Saunders asked.

  “I’m working on it,” Trey snarled through gritted teeth. “It’s rather difficult at the moment.”

  Lana’s eyes widened as Trey slashed the wound open wider with a scalpel, then shoved two fingers into it. A few seconds later, he came out with the bullet, or at least what Lana took to be the bullet. It didn’t look like much more than a piece of mangled metal to her.

  Trey dropped it in his medical bag. “Taking the bullet out didn’t help, Doc. He’s still thrashing and convulsing.”

  “Flush the wound with as much saline as you have,” Saunders ordered. “And while you’re doing that, can you describe this poison? What does it smell like?”

  Trey frowned as he took a bottle out of his bag and began irrigating the bloody wound with saline. “Um…it stinks.”

  “Not helpful,” Saunders snapped.

  “It’s medicinal smelling,” Lana clarified, talking loudly as Zane howled. “Like sulfur mixed with a mild wild onion. It burns on contact with the skin and can cause an allergic-like reaction similar to a first-degree burn after only seconds.”

  “Okay, not sure who I’m speaking to now, but you sound like you know what you’re talking about, so keep going,” Saunders said. “Tell me everything you can about the poison.”

  Lana related what had happened at the mall and the other night at the club, making sure to mention that washing the stuff off her skin had helped.

  “Trey, how’s the wound doing now that you’ve cleaned it?” Saunders asked when she finished.

  Trey studied the wound, pressing on the skin around it with his fingers to get some of the blood out. It was darker than it should have been and oozed more than flowed. A putrid smell suddenly filled the SUV, making Lana almost gag. It smelled like something rotting.

  Zane howled louder than before. Jerking his right hand away from Lana, he grabbed Trey by the front of his uniform T-shirt. “Cut the fucking thing off,” he begged. “I can’t deal with this. Cut it off!”

  When Trey didn’t respond fast enough, Zane released him to claw at the wound, like he thought he could rip his own arm off.

  With Brooks’s help, Lana got a grip on the man’s right wrist, yanking his hand to his side. It didn’t help much. Zane was thrashing so hard it was nearly impossible to hold him down. Cursing, Brooks drew his fist back and punched Zane in the jaw so hard she heard at least one bone break. On the upside, it knocked Zane out, which meant he wasn’t fighting them anymore.

  “Shit,” Trey muttered. “Doc, this is bad. The poison is rotting the muscles. Everything within a two-inch radius around the wound is black, and it’s starting to spread. What the hell will this stuff do if it reaches his heart?”

  “We’re not going to find out,” Saunders said firmly. “You’re going to cut out the necrotic tissue to keep it from spreading.”

  Trey looked stricken at the thought. “How much?”

  “As much as you have to. Do it quickly before you have to take even more.”

  It was the most horrible thing Lana had ever seen, especially since she had to help hold back the skin as Trey removed some of the muscle. When he was done, he
leaned over and put his nose near the wound, sniffing it. After a moment, he sat back on his heels. He looked drained.

  “I think I got the worst of it,” he told Saunders. “I could try for more, but if I do that, I might as well take the whole arm. I’ve already damaged it beyond the point of repair—even for a werewolf.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. “You did what you had to do,” Saunders finally said. “We’ll worry about saving his mobility after we save his life. Get him here as fast as you can. I’ll have a team waiting.”

  “We’ll be there in less than five minutes,” Max called out from the front seat.

  Trey leaned over again and put his ear to Zane’s chest. “His heart rate is still dropping. That poison must have made it into his bloodstream. I don’t know if he’ll make it five more minutes.”

  Lana reached over and took Trey’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “He’s going to make it. We’ll find a way to save his life. I promise.”

  “I hope so,” Trey said. “But this was just a flesh wound. What happens the next time we tangle with the hunters and they put a poison bullet through a werewolf’s chest? He or she won’t live more than a couple minutes—if that.”

  Lana didn’t say anything. She only prayed it never came to that.

  * * *

  Lana found Max in the small observation deck overlooking the main operating room in Saunders’s research clinic. He was standing with his arms folded across his chest and his gaze locked on Zane, who was barely visible on the bed below. She wasn’t surprised to find Max here. It’s where he’d been going on and off for the past day and a half since his friend had gotten shot.

  Right now, Zane was in an induced hypothermic coma. He was heavily drugged and wrapped in cooling blankets in an effort to slow his heart rate and limit the effects of the poison on his body. He was stable for now, but the longer those toxins were in his bloodstream, the worse it would be for him. Max and the rest of his SWAT team were worried Zane might never be able to use his left arm again, but Lana was more concerned about whether he was even going to survive.