Marriage Claws

by Paige Cuccaro

  He was right. One by one the pack leaders were backing away, disappearing into the woods as Lenny had done. Only one old wolf remained with Frank and Meredith. They waited as the last elder lunged at George and nipped his thigh. Then the frail gray wolf trotted off as fast as he could, vanishing into the darkness.

  I stopped struggling for a moment and Jack relaxed his hold—a little. “There. That’s it. The last one. Now they’ll let him be.”

  But a sudden swell of movement rippled through the crowd around us and shot my panic into overdrive. “No. Not all of them too,” I said just as Jack’s arms tightened around me again.

  “No,” he said. “They’re just witnesses. Like us. They won’t hurt him. That part’s done.”

  The massive pack of wolves pushed forward like a river of fur. Frank and Meredith stood protectively on either side of George, breaking the tide like stones in a stream. The pack parted around them, racing off into the darkness like the others. When the last one had gone Frank and Meredith followed. No parting looks, no final words, they were just gone. My brother was finally alone.

  He lay in the tight ball he’d curled into to protect himself, his bare flesh covered in blood, puncture wounds, marring his arms, legs and back. Jack’s hold fell away and I raced to George’s side, dropping to my knees next to him, hands shaking.

  I didn’t know where to touch him that it wouldn’t hurt. I sniffled, realizing only then that I’d been crying the whole time. “George? Oh, God, George, are you okay?”

  He didn’t answer, but I could see he was breathing and I tried to move some of his blood-sodden hair from his face. I froze when I low growl answered my actions, and George shifted under my hand. He hadn’t moved much, but enough that it was clear he didn’t want my touch.

  “George?”

  “Kate, c’mon. He’ll be okay,” Jack said, hand outstretched to me.

  I glanced from his hand to his face. “How do you know? Look at him. He’s covered in bites and blood.”

  “He’s okay. Trust me.”

  Trust him? Trust the man who kept all of this a secret? The man who never mentioned he had a sister, never mentioned he’d been engaged before, never mentioned he’d betrayed his first fiancée? Trust him? “No. I’m not leaving my brother.”

  “Kate, look at him,” Jack said. “He’s okay. He survived. His body’s already changing.”

  I turned back to George and watched as one of the bites on his back stitched back together, the skin going pink and raw before it smoothed over. Another low growl vibrated up from him and instinct drew me back a half inch.

  “We have to go,” Jack said. “He won’t have the control the rest of us do. Not at first. We have to get you away from him.”

  “George wouldn’t hurt me,” I said, confident. “I’ve known him since the day he was born.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not willing to take that chance. Not with you.” Jack reached down and snagged my wrist, pulling me to my feet. He scooped me into his arms and carried me back down the dark path to the house.

  When we emerged onto the backyard, Jack set me on my feet again. “I have to join the others. Go inside. Watch some TV or something.”

  “Seriously? After that? You think I can just plop down in front of the TV?” I folded my arms across my chest to help hide the tremble I couldn’t seem to stop.

  Jack sighed. “Fine. Then . . . take a hot shower. Make some tea. Anything. Just try to relax. Everything’s going to be back to normal by morning. I promise.”

  I snorted. I’d just watched my brother be attacked by werewolves, and now he was out there somewhere morphing into one. Nothing would ever be normal again. “Whatever. But so help me, Jack, if my little brother doesn’t come out of this happy and healthy . . . I’ll hunt you down. I’ll make Van Helsing look like a hapless dogcatcher compared to me. Got it?”

  “Got it.” Jack’s mouth tightened and I could tell he was trying not to smile. He turned to go back into the woods, but then stopped and looked back at me. “But, Kate?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Make sure you lock the doors.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Normal. What was normal? I didn’t know. I’d never had normal, not since my mother died, not after my father abandoned us, and certainly not after meeting Jack.

  I did take his advice, not that I’d admit it to him. But I made a cup of chamomile tea, and brought it upstairs to our room. I sat on the little loveseat, staring out the open French doors to Jack’s bedroom balcony.

  Lake Ontario loomed dark and ominous in the distance, the sound of its small waves almost too distant to hear. I glanced to the left, seeing only the tops of trees. My little brother was somewhere in that huge forest, surrounded by more than a hundred monstrous wolves.

  Okay, not monstrous, but not human. I exhaled, worry niggling at the back of my neck. I’d been George’s protector, his parent, for most of his life. How was I supposed to just stop protecting him? How did Jack expect me to sit by and leave him out there all alone with those . . . those . . . animals?

  Not that I could protect him even if I was out there. George might not be human anymore, but I still was. I’d seen the teeth, the claws, and the powerful bodies. They’d shred me to pieces if I got in the way. Of course, that knowledge wouldn’t stop me from putting myself between my little brother and any one of them.

  Which is exactly why Jack had insisted I come back to the house. I knew this, but the knowledge didn’t really help.

  Maternal instinct prickled through my muscles. I couldn’t just sit there staring at the stars while my brother went through the biggest event of his life . . . without me.

  I couldn’t stop my stupid brain from picturing the poor little guy, running through the woods trying to keep up with the other wolves, getting lost . . . having to pee and not being able to find a good tree.

  But Jack was out there with him. He’d help him, protect him. Wouldn’t he? Or would he be too distracted by his sexy ex-girlfriend to think about George?

  I groaned, dropping my head back. I’d almost forgotten about the curvy Alexia. She was probably right on his heels, chasing Jack. And of course he probably looks just as amazing in wolf form, his body long and sleek, dark fur thick and silky like his hair. Not that I’d seen his wolf form. I could only imagine how beautiful he must be.

  My eyes closed, mind drifting. His big muscled body compact and powerful, driving him fast through the forest, launching him over fallen trees, turning him this way and that in an instant. And his eyes . . . Lord, what must those piercing green eyes look like staring out of the face of a wolf?

  I clenched my hands, adrenaline kicking up a notch. I should be with him. I should be out there feeling the wind race through my hair and the soft forest floor beneath my feet. I wanted to be there, I wanted to know what it was like to possess that power, to push myself harder, faster, further than I ever could as a human. I wanted to be with Jack.

  My eyes snapped open. Scratch that. I didn’t mean it. Did I? What was I thinking? I should be worrying about my little brother, not daydreaming about running with wolves—about running with Jack. Especially since it would never happen. My chest pinched, realization slamming through me. I’d never be one of them.

  I sighed. “Good, God, just let it go.” Jack was right, I had to figure out a way to relax.

  I set my teacup on the side table, having taken only a sip of tea, and headed for the bathroom. I really don’t like tea. Why do I keep trying it?

  It took only seconds for the steam of the shower to fog the mirror and for a wonderful hazy cloud to fill the room. Perfect. I slipped under the showerhead, the pummeling water like a massage on the back of my neck. I grabbed the shampoo, scrubbing a quarter-sized dollop into my hair.

  I inhaled, expecting the smell of strawberries, or shea butter, or some other fruity concoction they usually scent shampoo with. But there was nothing. The only smell I picked up was pine trees, and soil, and everything else I’d brushed against
walking through the woods. I smelled like Jack.

  The scents clung to me the way they did to him. No wonder he always smelled like the forest. As a werewolf he must crave the forest, the outdoors. So much of him made sense now.

  I closed my eyes and inhaled, allowing the fresh, soothing aroma to seep into me. My mind drifted to Jack, his smile, his eyes, his kiss. I could almost feel the hard ripples of his muscles against my palm, the press of his body, the utter satisfaction of him inside me.

  God, I wanted that feeling again, that sweet release that would relax every tight knot in my body. I wanted the sensation of him on top of me, the weight of his body, the strength of his muscles, the confidence, the leashed power, the control. I wanted Jack. My heart picked up pace, muscles low inside me going slick, breaths coming a little faster, a little more shallow. I wanted to be with him. I needed to be with him. But I couldn’t be, not really, not the way he wanted. I was human. I’d never be what he truly needed.

  Frustrated, I exhaled and shoved my hands through my knotted, soapy hair. I was leaning back, rinsing it clean, when I felt a strange textual difference in the strands. My fingers sorted through the tangled mess, finding the spot again just as I felt a similar patch on the other side of my head.

  “Are those my . . .” I felt along the line of hair. There was something solid under it, like . . . a thick flap of skin. My heart stopped. It wasn’t hair. It was fur. “Are those my ears?”

  My hands cupped over the long pointy, furry ears, fingers twisting and bending the tips. Panic seized my chest and I moved my hands a little too roughly, scratching my head.

  I flinched and glanced down at my hands. “Oh my god . . .”

  My nails were long and dagger-sharp, the fingers shrinking into paws as I stared in horror. A loud crack accompanied a jolt of pain that sliced down my back and I bent over, catching my hand on the wall to keep from falling.

  Another loud succession of cracks and I was sure most of my ribs broke. I screamed, pain shooting through me I collapsed to the shower floor, blinking at my paw-like hands. I clenched my fingers, my claws gouging the porcelain floor. I was shifting.

  It wasn’t possible. I hadn’t been bitten. I wasn’t a werewolf. I was just falling for one.

  The wall in the basement flashed in my memory. The story of the first werewolves. The twin boys, Romulus and Remus, raised by a she-wolf and transformed by her love. Her love. Could that be what was happening to me? Was I being transformed by the love of a werewolf? Did Jack love me that much? Did he love me at all?

  I closed my eyes, willing my galloping heart to slow, forcing my breaths to fill my lungs, concentrating on each long exhale until the panic that had clenched through my muscles relaxed.

  When I opened my eyes my hands were back to normal, long slender fingers, no sign of paws. I reached for my ears and felt the smooth human skin that covered them. Whatever had started had stopped. I was me again. Wasn’t I?

  I shut off the water, and scrambled out of the shower. I had to talk to Jack. Was it even possible to be turned by the love of a wolf? Had I imagined it? Would it happen again?

  A flutter of excitement tickled through my belly, just as a jolt of fear iced through my veins. Was this really happening? Had I imagined it? Was I really becoming a werewolf?

  Buttoning my slacks, I froze. What if it was all real? What if I was turning into a werewolf, an animal? Did I even want that? What about the restaurant and all the people who depended on me? How could I run a business and be . . . a wolf? Jack managed somehow.

  God, I didn’t know. I had so many questions. I hadn’t really thought it was possible. Not for me. There was so much I didn’t understand, hadn’t considered. I needed to find Jack, talk to him, tell him what had just happened. He’d sort it out, help me find my way and make a decision. Unless . . .

  Unless it was already too late.

  I swallowed hard, shoved my hands through the sleeves of my blouse, buttoning haphazardly as I raced for the door. My hair was a wet, slightly soapy, mess. I hadn’t dried off, hadn’t even put on a bra . . . or underwear. Jack had warned me to stay in the house, but I was totally freaking out.

  The moon overhead was bright, nearly but not quite full. There went another werewolf myth shattered by reality. Werewolves didn’t need the full moon to shift forms. Did that mean they could shift at will? Would I be able to shift forms whenever I wanted?

  The possibilities and drawbacks shuddered through my brain as I stumbled my way down the dark path toward the clearing. How did they do it—bring on the change? I’d been thinking about Jack, wanting him, wanting to be with him. Would it always be that way? Was he some sort of wolfy trigger for me? What did he think of to bring out his wolf? God, so many questions.

  I nearly fell over a clump of grass as I raced into the large open area surrounded by trees. The fire was little more than embers and the torches that had burned along the edge of the clearing were now cold.

  “Jack?” I said, only a little louder than my normal voice but the sound echoed like a megaphone in the quiet forest. I called again. “Jack, are you out there?”

  No one answered, and after a few seconds I opened my mouth to yell louder. But then a twig snapped off to my left and trapped the words in my throat. I closed my mouth, muscles suddenly stiff, frozen in position like a rabbit being stalked by a predator. Instinct held me still, my eyes darting this way and that.

  Another snap and crunch of forest debris on my right prickled the hairs up the back of my neck. “Jack?” I said, softer.

  A low growl rumbled through the darkness, echoing off trees so it was hard to tell in which direction it was coming. I looked without moving, without turning my head, but the dim light of the dying fire kept my eyes from adjusting to the darkness.

  This was a bad idea. I should’ve waited in the house like Jack said. What was I thinking running out into a forest alive with wolves?

  Another growl joined the first, and I finally pinpointed the origin on my left—though I couldn’t see a thing. The brush just beyond the clearing stirred in front of me and I couldn’t help my sudden gasp. Something in the darkness stepped closer, just barely on the edge of shadows. Eyes glowed, reflecting the light of the fire and then a second set drew up beside the first, and then another, and another.

  I turned my head slowly, scanning through the trees edging the clearing. Beside every tree it seemed a set of eyes or two, or more, watched me. The pack. They’d heard me, or smelled me and now . . . they’d come back to hunt me.

  “Jack?” His name squeaked out of me, barely audible. I took a step back, wanting desperately to make a run for the path. The moment I did, a blond-furred wolf stepped from the shadows, its head low, ears back, flashing his teeth with a soft snarl. An instant later, two more wolves stepped up beside it, both of them larger, one blonde like the first and the other gray. The gray wolf was huge, like pony-sized, and it took another step beyond the blonde wolves, looking back to snap its jaws at them.

  Apparently, the big gray wolf had dibs on me, as the other two shrank back a half-step. From the shadows, one by one the sets of glowing eyes moved forward, stepping beyond the edge of shadows, exposing their large and powerful wolf bodies.

  My hands were trembling, knees wobbly, everything inside me screaming at me to run. I took another step back toward the path and out of nowhere a long streak of brown fur shot toward me. I didn’t think. Reflex and instinct took over.

  A scream ripped out of my throat as I spun, launching myself full throttle toward the path. The wolf’s hot breath heated my heels, my strides as long and fast as I could make them. In a terrifying instant I knew I’d never outrun him. I risked a glance over my shoulder just in time to see the night itself swoop in and engulf the brown wolf, driving him several feet back. I slid to a stop, turning to watch the two animals tumble and roll.

  The midnight black wolf pinned the brown wolf down, his big jaws open on the other’s neck. The brown wolf yipped, his long, lanky body thras
hing under the muscled weight of the black animal. The dark wolf’s growl rumbled through the air like thunder, vibrating through my body.

  “Kate.” I turned to see Marcus striding toward me from behind, his hair a long tussled mess, his body . . . utterly naked. My gaze dropped to his center on reflex, his sex thick and limp in a bed of dark hair, his legs brushed with hair, wide with muscles. My attention traveled back up, noting the arrows of muscles at his waist, the hard ripples of his abs, the stretch of his shoulders. He was a big man . . . in every way.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked. “Don’t you know to never run from a wolf? It kicks in their instincts to chase. And for a new wolf, like your brother, it’s even harder to control. He could’ve killed you.”

  “George?” I turned back to the two wolves wrestling only a few feet away. I knew instantly the long lanky brown wolf was my brother. After a few seconds George stilled, his tiny whimpers all that remained of his fight. “I was . . . I was looking for Jack.”

  “Well, you found him.”

  I blinked, seeing the familiar green eyes flash at me from the inky black face of the wolf. Jack.

  “But as you can see, he’s kind of busy,” Marcus said. “Come with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

  He slipped his hand around my shoulders, turning me away from the wolves. We started down the path, the smell of the forest more intense with him so near. But the scent was different than Jack’s, more organic, like old moss and over-ripe apples. I crinkled my nose, trying to ward of the aroma without being rude.

  “You’re soaking wet,” he said. “Did you fall in the lake?”

  “No. I . . .” I hesitated, not sure how to explain without sounding insane. “Something strange happened in the shower. I kind of freaked out and got dressed in a hurry.”

  We stepped from the dark path into the backyard and Marcus’ attention had already zeroed on my chest. I looked down to see my white blouse clinging to my breasts, the fabric practically see-through against my wet body.