by Lynde Lakes
Evernight Publishing ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2014 Lynde Lakes
ISBN: 978-1-77233-163-9
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: Melissa Hosack
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To my supportive husband, John, and my readers, now friends, who are willing to suspend belief and venture into the paranormal world of interesting characters in intriguing and potentially deadly situations, knowing they’ll get an entertaining, satisfying, page-turning read.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many thanks to my Evernight Publishing, acquisitions manager Marie Buttineau. And, of course, to my Evernight editor Melissa Hosack and cover artist Sour Cherry.
Appreciation also to the staff at Aina Haina & Kapolei Libraries
CIRCUS WOLF
Virgin Wolf, 4
Lynde Lakes
Copyright © 2014
Chapter One
Tigra Tortella, Circus Queen, a May 30th Gemini, raked her dagger-nails through her long, wild reddish blonde mane and paced her dressing room wearing a skimpy costume of two narrow valor strips of imitation tiger fur. It was almost time for her performance before a full tent crowd. Let everything go smoothly.
The door burst open and banged against the wall as Rolo charged in and lunged for her. She stepped back and threw her palms up in a stop position. Time was ticking away. “We’ve talked about this, Rolo.”
His eyes were glazed. He grabbed her wrist. “Yeah, well I’m through talking.”
She thought for a moment that he might hit her. “What’s wrong with you?” She yanked free of his grip, grabbed up her dart gun, and pointed it at his right shoulder. “Stay back. This over-the-top shouting and bullying isn’t like you.” He was usually mild-mannered. She’d never known him to use drugs or drink excessively, and she didn’t smell any alcohol.
Glaring at the dart gun, he inched a step forward. His eyes were too bright, his pupils pinpoints of rage. He wasn’t a druggie, but right now he looked and acted like one.
“I’m not kidding, Rolo. This isn’t going to happen. You’re my ring assistant and nothing more. Now back off.”
He waved his arms like a crazy man. “Why the hell have you been leading me on?”
“What? Are you kidding me? I haven’t. I wouldn’t. If I were attracted to you, which I’m not, we work together. Anything beyond a working relationship is off limits.”
“Who caught your eye? Vance Skull? I’m warning you, he’s a bad one.”
Still holding the dart gun on Rolo, she picked up her cell phone. “Don’t force me to call security. Go cool off, and I’ll meet you in the ring.”
Narrowing his eyes to slits, he paused, then whirled around and slammed out the door.
She exhaled. Thank God. She rubbed her wrist, trying to soothe the erratic pounding of her pulse.
Blast Rolo! If she went to boss man Ralph and tried to pull Rolo’s part of the act, the boss might think she couldn’t handle her team. Darn, I should be able to handle one mere man. She didn’t want to fire him. Hands down Rolo was one of the best handlers she’d ever worked with. But the act was too dangerous not to take some sort of precaution.
She left her caravan on the run, barely aware of the cooling evening breeze and the sawdust rustling under her feet. Heart pounding, she met with the five rear cage handlers.
“Look, guys,” she said, facing the men in matching yellow T-shirts and jeans. “Be prepared for anything. Rolo is high strung and off his stride tonight.”
“No problem,” the head handler said. “We’ll watch your back.”
“Thanks, guys.” She left the crew, forcing herself to ignore their wisecrack whispers about her being a control freak. She was—and that was the reason the show always went smoothly.
Tigra paused at the Big Top entrance to catch her breath, compose herself, and give Rolo time to cool down, get in place, and start his part of the act.
The parade of elephants with their skimpily-dressed ladies in sequined slippers and the frolic of mischievous clowns had ended. With a silver-tipped cane under the elephants’ bellies and behind front legs, the huge swaying delightful beasts were led out. Then, right on cue, the twenty-piece band slid seamlessly into one of the difficult Mephisto waltzes.
Rolo bowed as he strode for the center cage. He was an impressive showman. Her disinterest in him had nothing to do with his looks or his bearing. Bare-chested and wearing black tights, the handsome muscled Adonis looked confident enough. She closed her eyes, steepled her hands, and sent up a silent prayer. Dear Lord, help Rolo regain control and keep us all safe. She blew out a gust of air and straightened her shoulders. The show must go on.
****
Heading for the center ring, Rolo struggled with his wave of regret. Exploding, shouting at Tigra, and slamming out of the dressing room wasn’t something he’d normally do. Yes, he wanted their relationship and his career to move faster, and it was often his nature to push too hard, but tonight he was way out of line. If he didn’t know better, he’d think someone slipped drugs into his orange juice. He straightened his spine and, with effort, shucked off his regrets. He’d apologize later.
Locking into his mode of complete concentration wasn’t working. He rubbed his head. His mind felt electrified and an unusual tic at the corner of his eyelid added to his off-balance, out of control agitation. Why? He’d done this act many times. Why was tonight’s performance different? Everyone’s initial encounter with a tiger, even within the confines of the circus, was terrifying. And his first remained etched in his mind forever. Now, for some mysterious reason, he was re-experiencing those same first-time jitters.
The full-house crowd hummed with mounting eagerness; they were hungry for thrills.
He scanned the stands and sensed all eyes were on him. His trembling hand hesitated on the door of the center cage. Stay cool! This odd inner shaking and paranoia will pass.
He’d barely stepped inside the enclosure when the animal hatch thumped open and five
Bengal tigers charged into the cage. They rushed toward him with their orange bodies swaying in muscled motion as they circled him growling, with wide, toothy mouths.
He sucked in a long breath to bolster his waning courage and snapped his whip.
Still growling, the huge striped beasts took their places on the pedestals, and with big paws, clawed furiously in his direction. His job was to pretend to antagonize them. It was the usual warm up to make the Tiger Queen’s performance appear more frightening to the audience. There was little danger; it was easy, like humming the same tune each night with old friends. Candy, the gentlest of the bunch and the most like an overgrown kitten was in the forefront. He poked at her; she looked directly at him then opened her mouth wide and growled. Her chilling growl was part of the show.
Oh crap, but not that rabid-hot look in her eyes! Something was wrong with her. His blood turned icy and he froze. Candy lashed out at him with slashing fore paws. Then quick as a bolt of lightning, she leapt and knocked him down. She tore at his bare flesh with sharp claws and deadly teeth. Pain radiated through him as he struggled to fight her off. He inhaled fur, acrid blood, and sweat. He reached for his stun gun; the tiger slashed at his hand. She was all over him, chewing, slashing.
Above the
crazed growling and his own pained screams, he heard the stunned uproar of the crowd—followed by a shared gasp, then shocked silence. The sudden quiet from the stands made the growling and his hellish outcries ring louder.
Over the non-stop growling, the gate rattled and Tigra’s strong, authoritative voice ordered Candy back. Tigra wasn’t alone. Her team was with her. Whips cracked to keep the other tigers in line. He was too busy and injured to feel more than a twinge of relief.
Again, he reached for his stun gun and discovered he had no right hand and the left was only a bloody stub. It was up to Tigra and the team to immobilize Candy.
One of rescue crew shouted. “Dear Jesus. My dart gun’s empty.”
“Mine too,” Tigra screamed, panic in her voice.
Bloody hell, Rolo thought, someone had sabotaged their act.
The tiger hung on. As Candy shook Rolo, he felt his blood splatter over his bare chest like rain. Candy’s teeth sank deeper into his throat, ripping, tearing and then blessed blackness….
****
Tigra knew her tigers well and was positive gentle Candy wouldn’t attack without good reason. The Circus vet came on the run. He tested the blood of the immobilized, downed tiger and confirmed Candy had been drugged. Later at the hospital, tests on the contents of Rolo’s stomach proved he had been drugged too. “Dear God, please allow Rolo to survive the attack and let the results of those tests keep Candy safe from the authorities’ bullets.”
Chapter Two
Hugo Marshall Hall, alias Hugh, raked his midnight black hair. Cursed by a lycanthropy gene, he’d been in crisis since the day he was born and the sense of chaos increased by leaps and bounds each day. As he finished his breakfast with his brother, Damon, a new wave of loneliness crept into his senses. He’d been a loner most of his life. Of course he had Damon and Damon’s family, but he craved to carve out a special Shangri-La in the world for himself and, if very fortunate, find love.
He poured himself and his brother another cup of coffee and studied the classified job ads. “Hey, here is something interesting.” He read the circus ad aloud to Damon twice. He grinned as adrenalin shot through him. “It offers a recently vacated job with room, board, and paid world travel.”
Damon frowned. “Recently vacated, hmmm… Does the ad say why?”
“It’s an ad for a job, not a full history of the position. The point is—it offers travel and adventure.”
“Haven’t you had enough adventure in your life?”
“Not the right kind.”
“True. And I get why it sounds promising to you. But don’t leap into anything without checking it out thoroughly. And watch out for those hard-living circus women. They can eat a man alive.”
“Is there something about you I don’t know? Just how many circus women have you known?”
“None. Dammit. But I can imagine.”
Hugh shrugged and sighed. Damon’s concerns were understandable. His brother believed he wore his heart on his sleeve and that his kindness was his Achilles heel.
“I’ll be careful, but perhaps a circus is the perfect place for me. Masquerading as a normal person is exhausting. Circus people are expected to be different, so I just might fit in with the Big Top family.” A warmth filled him. Family. He craved one of his own.
Damon drained his coffee and then stared into his cup. “You know we’ll miss you.”
“I know, bro. If only the cure you struggled to perfect had worked on me, I could have some normalcy in my life. But the way things are, I just don’t fit in here anymore. I need to meet new people, spread my horizons, and maybe meet someone like Angela.”
“Good luck. There’s no one like Angela. She’s an original.”
“I have to try.” The freeing of the curse which had finally worked on Damon and his wife, Angela, was his only hope. It was love. Not just a general everyday love for others, but a special man-woman kind of love with a daring willingness to give up everything for one special soul mate. The evidence suggested the edict of the prophesy was true because he loved Damon, his family, and the few friends he been lucky enough to acquire since his resurrection, and he’d shown a willingness to die for them. Yet those sacrifices hadn’t cured him.
“I’m as envious as hell of you, bro. I want what you and Angela have.”
“I want that for you, too. The happiest times with Angela are the simple moments when we walk down the lane together holding hands. The intimacies of little things are the moments with the most meaning in the long run.”
“Then you understand why I want to seek that full heart experience for myself. Please, bro. Give me your blessings.”
Damon moved his empty cup out of the way, reached over, and gave him a hug. “You have it. Just stay cautious. You’re a vulnerable soul.”
“I know that.” All of his life, death had lurked just around the corner. He wasn’t afraid of dying; he knew what was on the other side and had learned the benefits or lack thereof depended upon choices made while alive. It could be a place of goodness and beauty, or a grave, dank subterranean purgatory of unending emptiness; or for the truly evil, a fiery hell. “Just wish me luck. I’m ready to find my own destiny.”
Damon bit his lip. “Good luck, Hugh. You deserve it.” The catch in his brother’s voice sent a sense of loss through Hugh. But this was something he had to do. If he got away from the secluded, imposing mansion and his brother’s family for a while, he might increase his chances of meeting a woman who was beyond his present limited sphere.
Damon tilted his head. “It isn’t that easy to find a soul mate able to set your heart on fire.”
“But I have to try. And if a soul mate isn’t in my near future, perhaps I can at least find an interesting companion and enjoy a great adventure along the way.” Images of far away places flashed through his mind. He’d never traveled and would love to visit all of those exciting places he’d read about since he’d first learned to read at age five. What better way than with a traveling circus?
Chapter Three
Vance Skull Kilman, aerialist, garbed in his usual black performing attire, felt the walls of his caravan-trailer closing in on him. He grabbed the edge of the kitchen sink counter to quiet his hands from shaking. He glanced down at the obscure black cloak with the vibrant blood-red lining thrown over the back of a chair and fought an urge to slip it around his shoulders. As the lure grew stronger, he strode to the door and clasped the handle. He let it go as though it was hot-wired. Only the circumstances of the robbery kept him from dashing out into the misting darkness to find an unsuspecting beauty to fulfill his needs. Softly, in the back ground, a CD played “I Like a Gershwin Tune.” The upbeat music didn’t soothe his lusting mood. He paced, and then looked out the window at Tigra’s billboard. Why had he allowed her to get into his blood, his wretched soul? Probably because she was the only woman who consistently turned him down.
Why was he torturing himself? There were plenty of women out there. For tonight, he must curb his carnal, desire. He had a nice theft game going with the ever-moving circus and mustn’t let his lustful need and thirst for revenge blow it. Business came first. That meant he had to keep his wits and relocate the solid gold arrowhead he’d stolen from the San Bernardino County Museum last night to a safe spot until the circus pulled up stakes in three weeks. To avoid discovery, he had to hide his bounty before sun-up. By morning the grounds could be crawling with police. When trouble went down in a town, the cops always suspected the traveling gypsies who worked the Carney-Circus Circuit.
He glanced at the black raven perched on his swing. “You’re the only one I trust with my secrets.” The bird blinked and stared at him with beady eyes. Lance sometimes felt silly talking to a bird, but trusting a human friend was impossible. He learned early on his every action had an equally dramatic reaction and knew well the dangers of allowing a co-conspirator to join his world of debauchery. It was safest to indulge in his wild seductions alone. Intensity and concentration—traits he tried to c
onceal under his cloak of darkness—were the vehicles of his convictions and his raven Blacky would never reveal anything about him.
Vance leered down at the burlap bag and opened it enough for Blacky to see inside. “This is my best acquisition since I joined the circus five years ago,” he told the raven. “The piece was carved from pure gold in the days of the gold rush by the wealthiest ranch owner in the area, Arturo Lugo, Sepulveda. It’ll be worth a fortune in Europe. Hell, even the insurance companies will offer a bundle to get it back.”
He closed the bag tightly and smiled his long-toothed grin. The wooded Shandon Hills were a labyrinth of caves. He would choose the most secluded one, hide his treasure and then when the circus pulled up stakes to move on, he’d retrieve it and slip it out of town with the caravan with no one the wiser. Once the treasure was hidden and secure, he could satisfy his other needs—his craving for blood and passion.
Chapter Four
Hugh sang a few bars of “They Can’t Take That Away From Me,” in an effort to shake his gloomy mood. But it was too late; disconsolate thoughts had snuck up on him and wrapped constricting tentacles around his soul like a venomous snake. It was March, the month of his original birth. All day black clouds darkened the sky and threatened rain. Many years ago, his mother had written in her journal that it was a black day when, on the 25th day of March, he’d sucked in his first screaming breath-of-air and was born an Aries crippled shadow in the world. As he developed, his plight worsened beyond her fears. In manhood, he ended up a hunchback who frightened women, children, and became a whipping dog for men.