I Kissed a Dog (Werewolves of the West 1)

by Carol Van Atta

  She also knew something about my abilities. I wasn’t sure how, or from whom she’d gathered her information, or how she’d even located me. I hoped that her earlier mental blunder was evidence that she still lacked a full understanding of my capabilities. As long as she didn’t know I could read her thoughts, there remained another possible window for me to escape through. I’d take all the windows of opportunity I could get.

  We made it to the limo without incident. Bradley sped away in the car I’d been so eager to drive to my parents. Relaxed against the plush leather seat, Jasmine kicked off her shoes and leaned forward. “I’m sure you understand that Zane is mine regardless of your one-night-stand-wedding. We’ve been pledged to each other since we were pups. It’s critical we’re mated. He is the rightful alpha, you know?” She said pausing to peer at her fingernails.

  Hoping to hide my surprise, I nodded again. Hadn’t I privately questioned Zane’s beta position?

  I quickly assessed that Jazmine didn’t expect me to answer, nor did she give a damn about anything I might say. I was safe for the moment so I allowed myself the luxury of pondering Zane’s heritage.

  His birthright should have secured him the alpha’s lead role in the Pacific Pack. Not that Logan was unqualified. In fact, he was quite the opposite. But there was a certain something about Zane that gave him an edge over the current alpha. Maybe it was his bloodline. Or maybe there was more to the picture than I was letting myself see.

  As we sped across the Markham Bridge, following the signs north to Seattle, Jazmine decided, much to my displeasure, to continue our conversation.

  “Zane always was concerned about our mutant cousins roaming in human territory without more accountability from the purebreds.

  At one point, when his father was preparing to pass him the torch, so to speak, Zane refused to accept. He wanted reconciliation between us and the mutants. The Indians were having no part of it. Most of us were skeptical too. How could we integrate with a subspecies?”

  Now I was even more baffled. “I don’t understand. You created the mutants, and as you said, they’re like relatives. Why all the animosity? Couldn’t you have just taught them better table manners?”

  She exploded into giggles. So loud, the driver heard through the glass partition and scowled in his rearview mirror. His response led me to believe he was an unsuspecting human, but I couldn’t be certain. Jazmine’s guard, on the other hand, remained stone-faced by her side.

  Staring at the mutant’s blank features, I realized that although I’d just discovered the supernatural world, I’d already formed some clear-cut opinions. First of all, after meeting Stryder, I’d accepted that not all mutants were bad. They weren’t so different from their purebred counterparts.

  The most important discovery: I couldn’t tell the good guys from the bad ones based on species alone. Just as humans were prone to prejudice and intolerance, so were the supes.

  I wasn’t sure why I was so shocked by this latest revelation, but I was. Knowing I could categorize the creatures I met based on their species had made certain groups seem less threatening. Now, all the so-called distinguishing characteristics were blurred. Everything was grey. Bad guys, good guys … it all depended on whose side you were on any given day. Making that vital distinction would take far more effort on my part.

  As a child, I’d asked my mom why everyone couldn’t just get along regardless of any differences. By the time I hit seventh grade, I’d found my answer. People could be mean. They could be downright nasty and cruel.

  Religion, race, political views, how much money you had in the bank, where you worked, lived, whatever, all had the potential to serve as dividing lines. Add a whole world of supernatural beings to the mix, and things got even more divisive. Who or what was on my side?

  “Deep thoughts, dear,” Jazmine crooned. “Care to share? I’m not as bad as you might think. ”

  I almost laughed. Her attempts at sounding motherly and reassuring fell way short given all I knew. Mothering murderers didn’t fit with my idea of a good guy, or girl, period. Nothing Jazmine did or said would convince me otherwise, but I couldn’t help my curiosity. Maybe she’d reveal something important if she kept talking.

  I smiled and made a beeline into her thoughts, where I expected to find some diabolical plan forming.

  What does Zane see in this creature? She’s dimwitted. Kind of cute, but too much butt.

  Too much butt? I was sitting across from a psychotic werewolf woman and she was thinking about my fanny. As for the dimwitted comment …

  “So you can talk to farm animals?” she asked out of nowhere.

  I stayed silent, unsure what I wanted to tell her about my talents.

  “Not answering isn’t an option. You’re my prisoner. Don’t let the surroundings fool you.”

  Noting the flash of scarlet in her eyes, I decided to keep it simple. “I don’t talk, not really. I listen or see pictures and sounds.” Had she asked the same question a week ago, my answer would have been the truth. Now I could do a whole bunch of other nifty stuff that I would die before revealing.

  Unfortunate for me, knowing her violent tendencies, death was a likely reality. But I planned to prolong my survival for as long as possible.

  “All animals?”

  Taking a more playful tone, I joked, “Farm animals, domestic animals, and wild animals.”

  “I hate to say it, but I’m impressed.”

  Following her impromptu compliment, the remaining drive passed in silence. Jazmine spent her time flipping through bridal magazines and daydreaming about her wedding dress and what she mentally referred to as mating with Zane. She seemed to regard my marriage to Zane as an incidental incident, easily rectified.

  Sickened by the graphic images of her imagined honeymoon activities, I sent my mental tentacles out, away from Jazmine, seeking my husband. I’d never been successful making contact with someone hundreds of miles away, but I had to try.

  I was frustrated to find that even with all the recent advances in my abilities, I still couldn’t communicate at this distance. We were almost to Seattle. Zane was a good eight hours southwest. I guessed he was out of range. Though I couldn’t be certain he’d open his mind to me even if I could reach him.

  After attempting to reach Michael, Mack, and then Stryder, I gave up on my search and gave in to the fear nipping at my thoughts, tormenting me with the endless possibilities of brutality that might lie ahead. My exhaustion finally overrode my fear, and I dozed off, just to be awakened a short time later when the limo skidded to a stop, jolting me sideways.

  With my eyes still closed, I determined that I’d been blindfolded during my nap. Automatically, I reached for the offensive fabric blocking my vision.

  “No. No. Hands off. Just be thankful you were sleeping. We waited until the last possible moment before putting it on,” Jazmine said.

  With my head still fuzzy from sleep, I snipped before thinking about the potential consequences. “Aren’t you the nice and polite kidnapper? I’ll make sure to keep notes on how to treat my future enemies.” I didn’t need my eyes open to sneer.

  Unable to see her reaction, I pushed into her mind.

  What an ungrateful bitch. She should be thankful. Maybe I’ll torture her later, but I’ve got to lure Zane here. We’ll watch her die together, as mates.

  Tempted to respond to her thoughts, I bit my tongue.

  “Get her into the dorm and put her in the lower hall. Maybe then she’ll understand the importance of pleasing me.”

  Once again, my mouth had earned me the wrath of another person … a werewolf. Why couldn’t I swallow my sarcasm? Now I was headed to some horrible place created for the worst of their prisoners. I didn’t do well camping, and I was doubtful I’d survive in some dirty, dank hole.

  Deciding it was best not to stir up any additional trouble, I allowed myself to be steered from the limo. I launched more mental probes and discovered I was surrounded by were creatures, primarily mu
tants from what I could tell.

  Without the use of my eyes, I confirmed what I’d noticed before, werewolves and mutants smelled different. Over all, the mutants didn’t smell badly, just odd. I still couldn’t understand why Jazmine, a purebred werewolf, was hanging out with the mutants she hated.

  The more I found out the less I knew. Not a great formula for solving a mystery or saving my life. At least if her last thoughts were accurate, I had some time before she reduced me to a bloody pulp.

  She intended to use me as bait — for Zane.

  The problem with her plan was the simple fact that Zane was furious with me. Furious enough to leave me to Jazmine’s whims?

  I’d know soon enough.

  ***

  Chapter 37

  I detected the minute we entered a building. The lingering scent of flowers was replaced by the stale, sweat-tinged odor of too many people crowded together.

  My blindfold was yanked off, getting caught for one agonizing moment in my tangled curls. “Ouch!” I yelped. “You don’t have to be so rough.”

  Jazmine trilled. A sound that sent shivers down my spine.

  Her laughter was minus even a hint of happiness. Rather it rang with perverse pleasure over my discomfort. I figured her attempts at niceties were long over. Part of me was glad. I was tired of playing games with a serial killer who was lusting after my husband.

  She grasped my chin in her hand, forcing my face within an inch of hers. “Rhonda mentioned you had a sarcastic streak. She also said you were used to getting what you wanted. I can relate to that. I always get what I want. Which means, you won’t.” She flicked my chin, hard, before tugging me into a headlock.

  Opposed to violence, I was shocked to find my mind reeling with ways to snap the offending finger right off her hand. Revenge, one thing I’d always avoided and discouraged others from enacting, had never looked sweeter.

  A crowd had formed, distracting me from my vengeful thoughts. They were watching us, some licking their lips, anticipating more violence.

  With my head secured in Jasmine’s grip, I could see those standing behind her. They were all women. Attractive women dressed in tan uniforms. There were girls as young as twelve or thirteen and women in their fifties, maybe older.

  Their commonality was their beauty.

  I remembered my vow at the hotel — stop being a victim.

  I’d conveniently forgotten somewhere along the way that dumping the victim role didn’t equal being reckless. I was just too tired of Jazmine’s abuse to refrain from spouting off more careless words. “You won’t get Zane. He loves me. You can’t force him to love you, can you, Jazmine? Can you?”

  The change came without warning. I barely sensed the vibration before her clothing blasted in every direction.

  A black bra strap snapped against my cheek as it sailed by. Jazmine landed on all fours in full wolf form. She circled, snarling and snapping, her gums trembled, drawing my gaze to her razor-sharp canines. I recalled in that instant that wolves had forty-two teeth, and I was pretty damn sure I was getting a good view of most of them.

  The ring of surrounding women stepped back. Some had their backs pressed against the concrete walls. They looked as terrified as I felt.

  “No!” A male voice shouted. “Honey, please, settle down.”

  She swung her head in the direction of his voice. Martin, the least-trusted elder, from yesterday’s board meeting, pushed through the growing crowd of females. His faithful German Shepherd on his heels.

  Although somewhat startled by his appearance, I wasn’t that surprised. His dog had already revealed Martin’s connection to the redheaded woman — Jazmine. I was still having a hard time accepting they were the same heartless woman.

  The regal charcoal wolf she’d become whined, her attention now on the man.

  “Remember our goals. You wanted her alive. We have too much at stake,” Martin soothed. “Let’s get you a hot bath.”

  She nodded her massive head and turned one last time to glare at me before trotting away at his side. The minute she was out of sight, several women hurried to collect what was left of her clothing. They understood what was expected of them.

  I realized then that another window-of-opportunity had opened wide. No one seemed interested in me, and the red wig was splayed across my feet.

  Taking advantage of my latest window, I reached down and made a show of massaging my calves while stuffing the tangled mess up the pant leg of my jeans, thankful I wasn’t wearing one of my skinny-legged pairs.

  Curious, several women continued to stare at me. I rubbed my legs and rotated my hips from side to side before returning to an upright position. I kneaded my lower back and grimaced.

  “Are you okay?” A blonde asked, her striking blue eyes mirroring concern.

  “Stiff. Too much tension I guess.” I rotated my shoulders.

  Her eyes moved from my face and darted around the lobby. She started to speak, but grimaced instead when Jazmine’s two musclemen rounded the corner, flanking me. Each grasped an elbow, squeezing harder than the situation warranted.

  The blonde woman dropped her head to stare at the floor, avoiding any further eye contact.

  I was more than irritated by the men’s’ intimidating attitudes. “Stop it! You’re hurting me!” I snapped. Not only was I annoyed, but I was also getting sick and tired of being manhandled and bossed around. I wanted my old life back. And if that wasn’t possible, I wanted to at least hear what the blonde had to say and adjust my plans if necessary.

  “You’re lucky The Mistress didn’t …” the tallest drew his fingernail across his jugular, adding semi-realistic gurgling effects.

  “Wow. So mature,” I muttered. Despite their physical prowess, these guys were lacking in the intelligence department.

  Several women smiled, encouraging me. One slapped a hand over her mouth, forcing what might have been laughter into submission. The majority still looked shaken, and a few appeared alarmed by the situation. I couldn’t wait to find out why they were being held.

  Ignoring my last remarks, my terrifying tour guides steered me down a long corridor. The tall rude mutant, on my left, was without doubt leaving imprints where his fingers pressed mercilessly into my upper arm.

  I tried once to pull free, but he tightened his grip in retaliation. Between the throbbing in my arm and the wig tickling my leg, walking wasn’t easy. Trying my best to ignore these inconveniences, I surveyed my surroundings, searching for any possible escape route.

  What I saw did little to increase my confidence.

  We were trapped in what appeared to be an abandoned school.

  Each passing door had a window, and I could see more women. Some were resting inside what looked like classrooms turned dormitories. Others were seated at sewing machines. Several classrooms were filled with supplies, weapons, and canned food. The place reminded me of a women’s minimum security prison combined with a survival training camp of some sort. Cameras were mounted above us, red lights blinking as they monitored our movements. Throughout the hallways, men patrolled with assault rifles resting on their shoulders.

  This building was not escape friendly. I’d have my work cut out for me. I needed some major help — supernatural help.

  From my brief observations, I’d determined that most of the women were scared, and they also appeared unhappy with their circumstances. If I could gather enough support for my cause, we could overthrow Jazmine and her crew. There were more than enough weapons to go around.

  At the passages end, a staircase wound downward. Fantastic. This had to be the way to my new home in the lower hallway

  Forcing my feet together, I refused to take another step without first testing the loyalty of Jazmine’s closest sidekicks. “Why do you listen to Jazmine? She’s just using you. You could fight back like real men, you know.”

  “And why would we want to do that?” Mr. Tight Grip said, digging his fingers deeper into my flesh. I winced, and a little whimper escaped my
mouth.

  “Because she’s a lying bitch,” I managed to hiss through gritted teeth.

  “Man, let up on her arm,” my right-sided captor commanded. He released my arm, taking a long step back. I knew what was going to happen next.

  Since mutants no longer required a full moon to shift, I’d guessed right.

  In what seemed like slow motion, his snout elongated and his body expanded, sprouting patches of fur in the process. Fingers became razor sharp claws, and his mouth filled with jagged fangs. I wasn’t sure how, but unlike the purebreds, his clothing stayed on, sort of. They were ripped and tattered like the Incredible Hulk’s after his transmutation.

  Instead of shifting, his taller counterpart, whipped out his sidearm and a crackle of gunfire followed, pulverizing my defender’s chest. He stumbled and tottered before plummeting backward, furry arms flailing but failing to stop his fall.

  What felt like a small earthquake rocked the concrete floor, causing me to topple forward. I landed with a thud next to the bloodied mutant. The holes in his chest were more than bleeding; they were smoking. Silver — of course — the one thing that could kill both werewolves and mutants.

  “Listen,” with a gurgling, wet sound the fallen creature managed to whisper.

  I leaned forward, pressing my ear to his snout. Afraid he might not finish, I plunged, without permission, into what were surely his last thoughts. I’m in your mind. Think, don’t talk.

  I’m Dante. I’m so sorry. I was trying to help. They’re creating an army.

  I didn’t like the sound of that. For what?

  To destroy the purebreds and take over their holdings, then the humans. His chest rattled as death crept closer.

  A hand grabbed my shoulder, ripping me from Dante’s shuddering form.

  The bald men can help. The old barge …

  What barge? I asked hoping to latch onto his final thought.

  It was too late. He was already shrinking, his human body replacing the mutant one.

  I’d never been inside an animal’s mind at the moment of death. What I felt was empty darkness, like the universe without stars. The shell remained, but the soul had departed. Dante, I hoped, was in a better place.