Wolf-Crazy

by Palmer, Linda

  I told him what I'd seen. "Probably wasn't anything."

  "No, it probably was." He sat back. "I didn't smell a werewolf or a Were, but that doesn't mean there wasn't one there, watching our every move. The stench of the house blocked everything else."

  "Your ice cream is melting."

  Lost in his thoughts, he picked up his spoon and shoveled some of his banana split into his mouth. I doubted he tasted it. "I know what I have to do, what I should've done. It's just…I don't want to go there." He shoved his split away and sat back again, frowning. "Why did I ever think I could leave this behind?" Zeke slapped the table in his agitation; I jumped. "Sorry."

  "It's okay." I pushed his ice cream back. "Finish this, or I won't, either."

  He hesitated, but then began eating again. "See how easy it is to make me do what you want me to? Just think how I'd react if someone threatened you. I'd do anything to keep you safe, and now they know it."

  His comment scared me spitless, and I was suddenly the one who didn't want ice cream anymore. "I'm sorry I said that. We were doing so well--"

  "It's okay." Zeke and I methodically ate from our banana-shaped dishes, almost emptying them before we both stopped. "Let's get out of here." I scurried to keep up as he strode from the drugstore. When we got outside, he placed his hands on my shoulders. "You go on home, okay? I've got some business to take care of."

  "No way."

  "Skylar--" His tone held a warning of words to come.

  "Zeke--" I deliberately used the same inflection. "You listen to me." I grabbed his face, pinching it so hard that his lips puckered out like a fish's. "I'm never, ever going to sit at home again wondering if you're dead or alive. Do you understand?"

  Somehow he managed a nod.

  I released him. "Besides, you can't wander around Ridge Rock on foot, sniffing the air. We'll go back to the cleaners, catch the scent there, and follow wherever it leads."

  "Does your dad have a gun?"

  My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my cool. "Not at the house, but I have pepper spray."

  Zeke grimaced. "This is impossible."

  "Yes, but it's still happening, isn't it? There's no Larry here, manipulating the law behind the scenes. In fact, your dad's probably got political opponents who'd love to discover you're alive, well, and doing something illegal. So the gun thing? Bad. Very bad. For you. For your dad and his campaign. For everyone."

  "You're sounding like Melita."

  "Don't be rude. Now get in the car, please."

  To my relief, he did, and without arguing. I drove straight to Anytime, waiting while he got out of the car and casually prowled the area. If anyone inside the place noticed, they did nothing to indicate it. Five minutes passed before Zeke came back to the car. He opened the door on the passenger side, propped one of his new boots on the bottom rim, and took his knife from the sheath now inside it. I watched him tuck it into his back pocket and pull his tee down over it. I wondered how in the heck he'd keep from cutting himself. "I'm trailing him on foot. You follow me in the car."

  For once, I didn't argue. I figured I could run down the enemy if I had to, which made driving a good thing. Zeke headed east on the sidewalk, passing in front of a café, a small strip mall, and a church. When he got to an elementary school, he suddenly turned north and headed toward the playground. Bordering it, were several backyards. He pointed to one in the middle. I saw it had a chain link fence with a gate. There was a padlock, but it hung open. Zeke entered the yard.

  I quickly parked the car beside the school's tiny walking track and ran after my boyfriend, who'd disappeared behind some shrubs. "Zeke? Where are you?" I kept my voice low as I entered the yard. Someone grabbed my wrist and yanked. I landed against a hard body.

  Zeke's words were a whisper that barely ruffled my hair. "I told you to stay in the car."

  "No you didn't."

  He tightened his hold on me. "Go back. You're in danger. I smell more than one Were. Three, maybe even four. It's hard to tell since some of the trails are old. But I do know it's a pack."

  "Oh my God. What are you going to do?"

  "Confront them. I'm sick of being shadowed."

  "I'm coming, too." I slipped my hand into his. "If we go down, we go down together."

  "You're being ridiculous."

  "Maybe, but I'm doing what I have to do. Besides, this is the only way you'll know for sure that I'm okay."

  Zeke gave that two seconds' worth of consideration and sighed his defeat. "Stay behind me at all times. I'll do the talking."

  "Got it."

  Keeping to the edges of the yard, we crept towards the house. Bushes framed the grassy area, some of them flowering, which probably helped scramble the Were scents. Once we were as close as possible, Zeke led me into the open and onto the cement patio, past a nasty charcoal grill and some battered lawn chairs to the sliding glass doors, smeared with handprints. He tested one door to see it if was locked. It slid open a scant half inch. Zeke carefully eased it to one side. We went in.

  With my heart hammering, I followed Zeke past a washing machine and dryer toward a kitchen, judging from the smells. It didn't take a werewolf to know someone was cooking with onions. Zeke hugged the wall, one arm back to keep me where he wanted me. Was I crazy to have tagged along? Yes, but not as crazy as I'd have gone if I'd stayed in the car. Besides, no one could protect me better than Zeke, with his super senses and strength. I had a feeling tense situations like this one were not new to him. I believed he could handle himself.

  "No need to hide. I caught your stench five minutes ago."

  I jumped at the sound of that voice, so unexpected, and buried my face in the back of Zeke's shirt to muffle my squeal of terror. He straightened and stepped into the kitchen, taking me with him. I peeked around his arm and saw three males. Two sat at a wooden table; one stood by the gas stove, stirring something in a frying pan. All wore jeans and variously colored t-shirts. I didn't see any werewolves.

  "Hello, Zeke. It's been awhile."

  Zeke didn't relax one bit. "Enrique. Thought you went back to Mexico."

  Oh my God. The Enrique? Recruiter for The Arm?

  "Planned to. Never made it. And I go by Rick now. Sit, sit. Make yourself at home, and tell your woman, there, to chill. Her heartbeat is drowning out the TV, and we don't bite anymore, well two of us don't, anyway." He chuckled.

  "You took the cure?"

  "Yeah. So did Germain." He pointed his cigarette toward his companion at the ugly wooden table, who nodded. "Rourke's another story." A glance told me he referred to the cook, who coolly glanced over his shoulder at us and then went back to his skillet. I instantly recognized him as the guy from the mall food court. "He likes moonlight and mayhem."

  Zeke gently extricated me from the back of his shirt and pulled out a chair. But instead of having me take it, he sat and pulled me onto his left leg, which I straddled at the thigh. His arm around my waist kept me close. Possession. Territory. I could tell that the other guys got the message, loud and clear. "Why are you following me?"

  "Curiosity, caution. Pick one." He took a drag from a cigarette. "Why are you in Ridge Rock?"

  "My home is here, remember?"

  "That house on Windsong?"

  Zeke hesitated. "Yes."

  "And this is your…sister?" The Rick dude snickered, as did his pal sitting at the table. I didn't like the insinuation.

  Zeke asked a question instead of answering one. "What are you guys up?"

  Rick shrugged and flecked the ashes from his cigarette onto the stained linoleum floor. "Freelancing. We've got skills; we get things done."

  "Bad things?" I asked. My courage surprised me.

  "Not so far, but I'm open to anything that'll pay the bills." Now all three men laughed. I tried to guess their ages. Enrique looked mid-twenties; Germain, who was African American had to be younger; Rourke remained a mystery.

  "Why choose Ridge Rock?"

  "We heard you were here."

  Zek
e went rigid behind me.

  Rick hooted. "I'm joking, man. Lighten up."

  Suddenly I hated him.

  He took a drag from his cigarette. "You working anywhere?"

  "Going to school."

  "High school?"

  "That's right."

  "What a freakin' waste." Rick caught my eye. "Your guy is way too talented to cool his heels in history class. Talk about skills, he's the best safe cracker I ever met and a real genius when it comes to--"

  Zeke cut him off. "I'm out of that..."

  Rick tipped his chair back, but didn't comment.

  "…so stay away from us."

  Rourke turned away from the nasty stove just long enough to stare us down again. He glanced at Rick, as did Germain. That told me who was in charge here.

  "Or?" Rick prompted.

  Zeke set me off his lap and stood, pushing me behind him as he got in the guy's face. "Sleep with one eye open."

  Chapter Twelve

  Rick's chair dropped to all four legs with a thunk. "Dude, relax. I'm just jerking you around. There's no need to go medieval. Right, guys?"

  "Yeah, sure," said Germain. Was it my imagination? Or did he now appear nervous?

  Rourke grunted a reply that could've meant anything.

  "Well, I'm serious. I don't want to see any of you again. Ever." That said, Zeke backed away from them, pushing me along behind him. We quickly left the house the way we'd entered it and crossed the yard to the gate, leaving a trail in the ankle-high grass. There Zeke took his knife from his pocket and stuck it back in his boot. Moments later we got into my car.

  For several seconds I could do nothing but rock back and forth in the seat, my face hidden in my hands. Zeke tried to touch me; I recoiled instinctively. I was that upset. Of course he took it wrong and reached for his door handle. I grabbed the sleeve of his shirt. "Don't!"

  He groaned and sat back, his head against the neck rest. "What do you want from me, Skylar?"

  "Everything."

  "What if some of it's not pretty?"

  "I want that part most of all."

  "I'm not sure I can share it yet."

  "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere. You love me."

  "And you love me."

  I crawled over the console and onto his lap, no easy task. When I got there, I kissed him and not just on the mouth. I kissed his eyelids; his nose; his cheeks, chin and forehead. Even his neck. They were all precious to my sanity.

  "You're killing me, baby."

  That made me smile. I kissed him again, boldly moving my fingers over his body. He caught both my wrists in one hand. "Not now."

  My hopeful heart slammed into my ribcage. "Then when?"

  "When the time is right."

  "Why not now?"

  "I've already got too much shit to deal with."

  "So sex with me would be 'shit to deal with'?"

  "No, no, no. I just don't--"

  "Want me that way?"

  He looked me dead in the eye. "You know better."

  I did, actually.

  "We can't have sex while I'm sleeping in Dax's bed."

  "So we'll do it in mine."

  "That's not what I meant!"

  I gave in. "Sorry. I know what you're trying to say. It wouldn't be right to do it under my parents' noses when they've been trusting enough to let you stay with us."

  "Yes. Exactly. Thank you."

  I'd never heard a boy sound more relieved. With a soft sigh of regret, I eased myself back behind the wheel and started the engine before looking at him again. "Just promise me this. We will have sex someday, right?"

  "Count on it."

  "How many girls have you slept with?"

  "None."

  Whew.

  "But I almost had sex with several. Luckily fear of catching something kept me from going for it."

  "Good to know."

  After dinner that night, eaten with my parents as usual, Zeke helped me clear the table again. Glad to be alone with him, I stole a quick kiss. His gaze darted to the door, telling me he'd probably found the meal as stressful as I had. Keeping our love secret from my parents was going to be a problem. One false move could give us away, and then we'd both seem sneaky and dishonest.

  "We have to tell them," I said.

  "Yeah."

  "And we will, but it's got to feel right."

  "Agreed."

  ****

  Thursday afternoon, Zeke had another session with Mom. As before, he dragged me into her office. I headed to the chair I'd picked last time; he sat on the couch; mom took her usual spot. "How are you doing?"

  "Fine."

  "Any repercussions from our last talk?"

  "No, but something happened before that. Something I probably should've mentioned last time I was here." Zeke's answer surprised me. I hadn't expected him to mention that.

  Mom's eyes narrowed. "What's that?"

  "I sort of wigged out during that storm the other night."

  "Define 'wigged out.'"

  "I got the shakes."

  "How did you handle them?"

  "I sat on the floor outside Skylar's room."

  "And that made you feel better?"

  "Not until she found me there."

  Mom shot me a suspicious glance. "So she helped you?"

  "Yes, but not in the way you're probably thinking. Your daughter has a gift, Mrs. Walker. She says she wants to be a zoologist, but I think she should be a vet or a nurse or maybe even a psychologist, like you."

  Now my mom smiled. "Skylar has a tender heart."

  "Especially where I'm concerned, right?"

  She flicked another look at me, as if silently asking what and how much she should say.

  "It's okay, Mom. He knows I love him. And guess what? He loves me back."

  Mom sighed. "I had a feeling about you two."

  "You don't have to worry," Zeke said. "We're not going to do anything about it."

  "At least not yet," I added since we were being honest.

  "Do you want me to tell your father?"

  That sounded great to me. "Would you?"

  "No." Zeke shook his head. "We should do it ourselves."

  I could tell Mom liked his idea, so I gave in with a reluctant nod.

  "Does it bother you that Skylar loves me?" Zeke asked. "Knowing what you know, I mean."

  "Who's the patient here?" Mom retorted with a laugh, but then she answered him. "Do I wish this had never happened to you? Of course. But not because I'm worried you'll suddenly go postal on my daughter. It's because you deserve better. And if what you really deserve is Skylar's affection, then I'm happy for both of you."

  Nice going, I thought, way pleased that she'd come through for us.

  "And now that we've settled that, let's get down to business, shall we? Do you think our session on Tuesday did you any good?"

  "Yes. I clearly need to get this out of my system for Skylar's sake as much as mine."

  "Excellent. What would you like to talk about today?"

  "Skills. My skills, and I'm not talking about the breaking-in thing. Every guy in the gang had a specialized set, based on a screening. Some were natural leaders; some could fight. And I heard that this one guy, Brody, could think you dead."

  "Excuse me?" Mom looked as confused as I felt.

  "He had psychic powers or something. It only happened once by accident, and some guys who saw it said it really messed him up. Never did it again no matter what anyone did to him." Zeke caught my eye, silently affirming what I'd already guessed. There was more to Brody's story. I hoped he'd share it someday.

  "What was your skill set?" Mom asked.

  "Besides being able to open doors, windows, cars, safes, or anything else meant to keep me out, I can mix up concoctions that will knock you on your butt for hours, make you sick as a dog, or even kill you, though I never went that far."

  I couldn't believe my ears. "Like a potion or something?"

  "Liquid, capsules, and even inhalants."<
br />
  "What would something like that be used for?" I asked.

  "Depending on how it was administered, muggings, home robberies, abductions."

  I don't know how my mother kept a straight face when she asked her next question. I'm sure I didn't. "Did you have to do this a lot?"

  "Enough."

  "And if you didn't?"

  "I paid." He stood, turned his back to us, and raised his shirt. Though I'd felt the scars on his back, I hadn't really seen them. I now saw shapes that defied explanation. My stomach lurched. I tasted vomit. "What did those?"

  "A belt buckle."

  Horror got the best of me. With my mouth full of puke, I scooted straight into Mom's private bathroom and threw up my lunch. Since I hadn't had time to close the door, they both heard me. I felt a hand stroke my hair. Mom's.

  "I'm okay." I flushed the toilet and moved to the sink, where I rinsed my mouth and cooled my face. She handed me a paper towel, her expression so troubled I had to speak. "I promise I'm not going to be your next patient, okay? It's just... " I shuddered, and though I tried to fight them, tears welled in my eyes and splashed onto my burning cheeks.