Approaching cautiously, he heard water running. He hesitated outside and called Jack's name. Reaching out, he turned the knob and pushed open the door.
A putrid stench came from the bathroom. Pushing the door all the way open, he froze at the horror in front of him. He could hear Alex being sick behind him. He, himself, had trouble controlling his stomach.
Jack's naked body lay in a pool of his own blood. Blood covered the floor like a crimson carpet and had splashed up the walls and the side of the tub.
Jack's face was a study in terror. He obviously hadn't died quickly. His throat had been ripped out and there was a gaping hole in his upper abdomen. Then the man felt his gorge rise when he noticed the object lying next to Jack's left hand—a human heart!
Alex didn't know what to think. The bathroom was plastered with both human and some type of canine footprints. But interestingly, the animal prints never left the room.
After talking to his father, he arranged to dispose of the body. They decided to give the man seventy two hours to produce the werewolf or the money he owed. Right now the man was living on borrowed time.
* * * *
Altheia woke gradually, Michael's heartbeat strong and sure beneath her cheek. Its measured sound and the gentle rise and fall of his chest calmed the remnants of her uneasy dream. She let her body settle more contentedly into his embrace. In startled remembrance, her eyes flew open. A gasp escaped her throat as she moved to sit up, but Michael's arms tightened their hold, restraining her impulse.
"It's all right, you're safe,” he whispered. “Just relax."
"Michael?” she managed, her throat still raw from her screams.
"Don't sit up; you don't want to get sick.” He relaxed his hold, leaning back to look down at her face, fearing what he would see in her eyes. “Just take it easy for a few minutes, try to calm yourself."
She closed her eyes and took a couple of calming breaths. When she was sure her stomach wasn't going to revolt, she slowly opened her eyes and met Michael's blue ones.
Michael found himself holding his breath, afraid of her reaction. “Oh Michael...” she cried as she sank against him, her arm sliding around his back. Her breath was hot and damp against his bare chest. Drawing a tortured breath into his lungs, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, rocking her in his arms.
"I think you better stop if you don't want me to get sick,” she mumbled.
"Oh God, Altheia, I'm sorry. Are you all right?” he asked solicitously as he rolled her gingerly onto her back. He leaned over her, observing her carefully.
She nodded with a small smile. “I think so for the moment. Are you all right? You weren't hurt were you?"
"I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about, and the baby.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb.
"I'm all right. A little sore is all,” she answered.
"Where?” he demanded, sitting up to examine her closer.
"My wrists."
He gently took her hands, examining the purple bruises that encircled her wrists like a primitive tattoo. “Any more?” he asked gruffly, sweeping the covers down her body. He growled when he found five quarter size bruises on the inside of her left thigh where the stalker had grabbed her. He wished he could kill him again. This time he wouldn't let him die so quickly.
He brushed his fingers lightly over the bruises. His lips followed, gently kissing each mark as his tears fell to dampen her thigh.
"Oh God, Altheia, I'm so sorry. I promised to protect you and I failed.” He sat up suddenly and turned from her in despair.
"But you did,” she cried, grabbing his arm, trying to draw him back. “If it wasn't for you...” She shuddered at the memory. “How did you get free?” She tugged his arm again and he reluctantly turned toward her, grief and self recrimination in his eyes.
Did she remember anything, he wondered? Maybe she truly hadn't seen what he'd done.
"The last combination I tried just before he came back; I didn't have a chance to test whether it would open. After ... after I heard you scream ... I tried in rage to rip it off and it opened in my hand.
"Damn it, Altheia,” he looked at her in pain, “five more minutes and I would have had him when he came in. He never would have reached you.” He pulled away from her in agony and stood up.
"No Michael, it's not your fault. You did everything you could,” she cried, sitting up abruptly as he left the bed.
Her moan caused him to turn. “What's wrong?” he asked as he knelt at her side.
She looked up at him as her hand went to her mouth, her stricken eyes like a knife in his gut.
"I think I'm going to be sick,” she whispered as she attempted to smile at him. Michael quickly swept her into his arms and carried her to the bathroom.
Sometime later, he settled her back in the bed with a cold compress for her forehead. “I saw a cafe back down the road. I'm going to walk over and get us something to eat. Don't let anyone in. I won't be long."
He was back in half an hour with a large bag of food.
"My God, Michael, you must have enough to feed a small army,” she observed with amusement.
"This isn't much,” he said surprised. “Besides, I'm sick of spaghetti and cereal."
She laughed, the sound bringing joy to his soul. He'd been afraid she would never laugh with him again.
"So, just exactly what did you bring to eat? My stomach in empty you know."
Laughing with her, he pulled a small table over next to the bed and began to empty the bag. “In deference to your stomach, I brought you cereal and milk."
She groaned, “Cereal...” When he set the box in front of her, she squealed, “You remembered!"
"You sure are easy to please,” he said with a smile. He remembered her wishing she'd had Rice Crispies instead of corn flakes for two days. “I guess I won't have to give you a special treat then to make you happy?” he asked.
"What?” she wanted to know, her eyes like a little kid anticipating a present.
Michael pulled a large ripe banana out of the bag.
"Oh! Yes I do want it,” she exclaimed as she grabbed it out of his hand. “I could kill for a piece of fruit.” Her eyes widened as she realized what she'd said.
Michael froze. She had seen!
She grabbed for him, not allowing him to pull away.
"Michael, I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about it."
"How much did you see?” he asked softly.
She hesitated for a moment. She didn't want him to have to feel he had to talk. She knew it bothered him.
"How much?” he demanded again, turning to face her. He had to see her eyes.
"Everything."
Michael flinched. “I'm sorry,” he groaned.
"I'm not,” she sat up straighter. “I just wish I could have done it."
His eyes opened wide, “What? You don't know what you're saying."
"Oh yes I do. If I could have, I would have killed him myself.” She was emphatic. “Damn, Michael, he could have hurt the baby.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “I would have killed him in a heartbeat if I'd had the chance."
Michael stared, his mind a jumble of thoughts. Had he influenced her with what he was? “My God, Altheia, I killed a man in cold blood, with no regrets like some kind of an animal."
"He was more of an animal than you'll ever be,” she spat. “Damn it, Michael, he didn't deserve to live! He harassed me for weeks, attacked me twice, and killed Jasmine, a poor innocent pet, for no good reason."
Michael had to turn away. Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed, “Maybe you're right."
"Of course I'm right. If you'd let him go, he'd have kept coming back.” Something was bothering him, but what? She looked at him closely. Touching his hand, she drew his attention back to her. His eyes reflected the pain he was going through.
"God, Michael,” she whispered. “Is this the first time you killed a man?"
Michael's bronze skin actually turned pale. “No.” He pulled fro
m her grasp. Standing, he began to pace the room.
"Do you want to talk about it?” she finally asked gently. “You don't have to if you don't want to."
He paced a few minutes in silence. Altheia thought he wasn't going to talk, when suddenly he sat on the end of the bed.
"My father died when I was eighteen,” he began. “I was in New Orleans at the time, visiting Grandfather.” He paused as if the memory was too painful to recall.
"You don't have to tell me if it's too much,” she said as she laid her hand gently on his arm.
"You should know,” he answered firmly. “You're my mate. There should be no secrets. Not such as these.” He sighed and went on. “I've never told anyone, but you have the right to know what I'm really like.
"My father was shot on the night of a full moon. He managed to make it almost home but he'd lost too much blood. My mother found him the next morning. When I returned, I at first thought it might have been an accident. Hunters, who were drunk, mistook him for a deer or something.
"God, Altheia, he almost made it. The wound had finally closed, but he'd lost too much blood and passed out. He was naked when he changed back. It was below freezing that night and he froze to death. In human form, we're almost as vulnerable as any human.
"I was in town a week later, drinking heavily, when I overheard two guys talking about how they'd seen a wolf recently and had tried to shoot it but it got away. They were laughing and joking about how it had been a full moon and maybe it escaped because it was a werewolf."
Michael lifted his head and looked at her. “They planned to go out the next full moon with silver bullets and hunt it down. They said we didn't need any wolves running around harassing the countryside."
"Michael, it's all right, I understand."
"No you don't!” he cried. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I bought them drinks ... got friendly, told them I knew where there was great hunting, plenty of deer. I offered to show them."
He sat and stared into space for a while as if he was seeing it happen again in his mind.
"I took them up country, deep in the mountains. I separated them, told one to wait while I took the other one and circled around and we'd drive the deer toward him."
"I talked to the guy about the wolf he'd shot ... didn't he think about its family, its mate? He told me wolves were vicious killers and should all be shot. And if there really were werewolves, then they were evil Godless creatures in league with the Devil and should be destroyed before they contaminated us all."
"I didn't try to control my rage or my need for revenge...” Michael paused and took a deep breath.
"The other guy saw me step naked out of the forest ... dropped his gun ... came toward me to help, but I never got to touch him. The bastard had a heart attack when I changed."
"I left his body where it lay. They didn't find it for eight months—what was left of it. He looked at her again. “No one knew I'd been with them. Official story was that they'd gotten lost and separated and died of exposure. They figured someday they would find the other body. They never will."
Altheia scooted closer and wrapped her arms around him. “I understand. They killed your father,” she said sympathetically.
He jerked away and stood up. “No, you don't understand! I killed a man for revenge and I would have killed another ... his death was still my fault.” His voice dropped in despair. “And last night, I did it again. I couldn't stop myself. Hell, I didn't even want to."
She rose and went to him. He tried to pull away, but she wouldn't let him.
"Michael, what you did was neither right nor wrong. Revenge is perceived in the context of time and place.” He gave her a puzzled glance. “In different periods of history, all over the world, man has sought revenge as his acceptable right. Even the Bible preaches ‘an eye for an eye.’”
"It also says, ‘thou shalt not kill,'” he argued.
"Then leave it to God to settle the discrepancy."
"God may not think of me as human."
"Then none of this matters. If you're not human, what you've done is normal, and God won't fault you. And if you are human, then he will understand and forgive."
Michael thought for a few moments. “And what about you?” he asked softly.
"There's nothing to forgive. If I were you, I would have done the same thing."
Michael groaned and pulled her into his arms. For a minute, he just hugged her close. “Do you know how much I need you? You keep me rooted in reality,” he stated with fervor. “You're what keeps me human."
His lips met hers softly in a kiss. “Have I told you today that I love you?” he murmured. “I'm glad you didn't walk away from me after that first night."
"So am I,” she laughed. “Although you fought me tooth and nail."
He laughed at the pun. He brushed her hair back off her face. “You haven't eaten yet."
"Yeah, and I'm hungry now. What did you get for yourself? There seems to be an awful lot of food."
After setting her back in bed, he proceeded to empty the bag.
"Let's see,” he said, “there's two ham and cheese omelets, two orders of bacon, two orders of toast. You can have some if you can eat it. And,” he said with a flourish, “I have two coffees and a large milk."
They spent the next forty minutes eating quietly. When they finished, Michael cleaned up and returned the table across the room. Coming back, he climbed into bed with her and settled her comfortably against his shoulder.
"Why don't you take a nap? You could use a little more rest. I'll stay right here."
She nodded and snuggled into him. Soon she was fast asleep. Michael finally began to relax; his mate was safe in his arms. After a while, he dozed off in contentment.
Several hours later, Michael woke to Altheia's wet kisses across his chest. Her fingers were wrapped around his flagrant erection, stroking him senseless. He groaned, pulling her lips to his, savoring her sweet, honey laced kisses. “Altheia,” he gasped, “you better stop."
"I don't want to stop,” she whispered sensuously. “I want you.” She writhed against his body, teasing like a bitch in heat. She needed him.
"Stop!” he cried, taking her hand off him before he lost all control. She was driving him insane.
"Michael ... please...” she whimpered. “I need you now."
With a growl, Michael rolled her over on her back and knelt between her thighs. Dropping his head, he laved her breasts, sucking and biting at her nipples till she writhed beneath him in total abandonment, begging him incoherently to take her.
His tongue caressed her lips, her mouth, as he settled himself against her. Hesitating for a second, he pulled back to gaze into her eyes. Then with one thrust, he buried himself deep within her welcoming body. His eyes closed in sensual delight as he began to move slowly.
His need suddenly overwhelmed his fragile control. Thrusting faster, he drove them both over the top. Collapsing over her, he struggled to regain his breath, his heart pounding madly. Rolling to his side, he gathered her against his chest. “I love you,” he whispered.
"I love you, too,” she answered.
A short time later, she pulled away and sat up. Concerned, he looked at her.
"What are we going to do now?” she wanted to know.
Michael knew she wasn't just talking about the next few minutes. “We have to go home and then I'm taking you to my grandparent's where you'll be safe until the baby comes. Then we'll decide where to go from there.
"We'll go home tomorrow morning and by Monday we'll be far away from New Hampshire.” He tugged her back down beside him. “Now, let's get some more rest before I go get dinner. We're going to be real busy for the next couple of days and I want you well rested."
Sighing her contentment, she agreed.
THIRTY-ONE
On Saturday, Michael made Altheia wait and rest while he went out for breakfast. After feeding her dry toast and sweetened tea, he made her rest a little longer until her nausea passed.
At least this morning she managed to avoid vomiting.
They were only about twenty five miles from home. They could be there in forty-five minutes. They rode in silence, each buried in their own thoughts.
It was noon when they arrived back in Jefferson. “Let's stop at your place first. Howland told me the owners want to sell and that you have to be out by the end of the month. Do you think you're up to it?"
She nodded and he pulled into the long driveway that let to the bungalow. A few minutes later they parked in the yard. It felt so strange, like it had all been some other life when she'd lived here. She repressed a shiver.
Michael glanced at her. She still looked awfully pale. “Look, why don't you tell me what you want and I'll get it while you wait in the van."
"No. I'm all right,” she sighed. “I'm just a little tired, but I'll let you do most of the heavy work."
"You know we can't take it all, don't you?"
Her head jerked up in surprise. “What do you mean, I can't take it all?"
"One—we don't have the time to empty out the place. Two—we don't have the room in the van. And three—except for personal items, we can replace it all when we get settled. If there's anything else of value, we can get Joe to get it and store it for us after we leave. For now, just get your clothes, your jewelry, any personal papers and such and we can get out of here."
She understood what he was saying, but somehow it seemed so final. It felt like her past was dead and buried and she was just disposing of the remains. It was a weird feeling. “Okay. There's not much; it shouldn't take long."
She had already taken most of her clothing. What was left fit into her two old suitcases. All her personal papers, except for her check book and such, were still packed in the trunk she'd inherited from her mother. She had a few pieces of Ricker pewter and a couple of pictures she had collected through the years. These she packed in a box they would store at Michael's.
None of her furniture or appliances were new, and her dishes and stainless were replaceable. All her linens had been wedding presents when she'd married Eric nine years ago and should have been replaced years before. They decided to let Joe take anything he could use and dispose of the rest if the new owners didn't want it. They were packed and out of there in an hour and a half. Altheia couldn't help but look back as they pulled away, but she was ready to start fresh.
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