Nightshatter

by L. E. Horn

  I remembered my reaction. The sounds of the fight . . . and its immediate effect on me. “He’d wanted me to change. But why?”

  She growled. “So he could see if you were a mutant. Yes. That fits. He squealed like a baby when I pounced on him, but he didn’t fight back. Made a lot of noise, then took off.”

  My thoughts raced to connect the dots. We suspected that someone was deliberately spreading the mutant virus, but I’d been collateral damage in that effort. “Whoever this is, they know someone infected me, but they’re not sure it was Dillon. So they don’t know if I have the mutant virus or the regular wulfan one.” My only remaining hope that I didn’t have the mutant virus lay in the fact my wulf looked nothing like one of them. Mutants were huge, with big ropey muscles and extra-long teeth and claws. My wulf wasn’t small, but pretty much ordinary. I took a long swallow of my tea. “I’m guessing they’ll conclude I’m not a mutant. But he was, wasn’t he?”

  “I think so, yes. Big and damned fast. But he seemed sane.” She leaned back against the counter as she considered. “They must be confused about you. You look nothing like Dillon as a wulf. Or like this guy was, either.” Her eyes met mine. “You’re much prettier.”

  “Guys are not pretty,” I protested automatically.

  “You are.”

  My wulf wanted to hear more, but I squelched him. “You didn’t come into contact with his blood or saliva.” I tried to breathe through a throat gone tight. We knew so little about the mutant virus, like exactly how and when it could be transmitted. Thoughts of her tackling a mutant alone made me shiver inside, but I wisely refrained from saying as much.

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “So, who are these people? Are they the same ones who collected Dillon and Chloe’s bodies?”

  “Good questions.” Sam sucked her lip beneath her upper teeth, and then licked her lips. At the glimpse of her pink tongue I forced my eyes away. “I’ll have to let Garrett know to watch for spies in the bush at Chris’s. Mutant or not, I pity any wulfleng that takes them on. Mess with Josh and Chris will eat you.”

  Garrett. Her enforcer partner. She’d mentioned he annoyed her at times, but the two worked together like a well-oiled machine. Had he ever been more? I was afraid to ask. Placing the mug on the counter, I sighed. “I was wrong about him.”

  “Who? Josh? How can you be wrong about Josh? Unless you don’t like his books—I love sci-fi. He makes Chris read every damned one, and he’s a mystery buff. Guess that’s what you get for having an author as a mate.”

  “No, I meant Garrett. I thought he was a prick, but he seemed shook up over what happened to Peter. He felt responsible because he was supposed to be watching them.”

  “He couldn’t know they’d go for a shape-shifting romp and that Peter would . . .” Her eyes flicked to me.

  My expression must have reflected my worry for my old friend’s mental state. Sam’s mouth straightened. “We’ll find a way to help him, Liam. None of us give up easy.” She sighed. “It would help if they’d send us more people to watch you guys. I have my hands full just watching you.” She elevated an eyebrow and for a second, her eyes turned silver.

  My wulf leaped in response until I forced him back where he belonged. The effort left me shaking with fatigue.

  Sam looked away and continued. “Garrett’s watching not only Peter and Josh but Chris too. If this virus makes him lose it, no way Garrett could put him down.”

  I thought of Chris losing his mind, and shuddered. The enforcer had helped me through my transition to wulf, and I considered him a friend. But he’d be a scary dude if he went crazy. “Garrett has his hands full. I should’ve realized it wasn’t his fault. Peter is an adult. He made the decision to go out there.”

  “Garrett can be a prick,” Sam said. “He’s arrogant as hell and fussy too. Always plays by the book.” She tilted her head to regard me. “He’s also brilliant with technology and has your back out there. He’s a good enforcer.”

  “I guess I didn’t see anything past the arrogant prick part.” My human nose twitched, detecting a distinctive coppery scent that made me glance at Sam. I took her arm and turned her gently around. With horror, I noticed a dark stain spreading across the back of her tee shirt.

  I’d been so busy deliberately not looking at her, that I’d missed the obvious.

  “You’re hurt. Dammit, Sam. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “It’s not serious. He threw me into a tree . . .” She turned her head to look at me over her shoulder.

  I stared at her, frustration coursing through me.

  “You’re sure he didn’t bite you?”

  Her brows drew down. “I know what I’m doing, Liam. I was careful.”

  I struggled to control my panic. Okay, no mutant virus exposure. Get a grip, Liam. She’s an enforcer. Injuries come with the territory. My highly visual brain flashed images of the scars I’d seen on Chris, as well as the ones I’d glimpsed on her. I took a deep breath and released angst along with it, enough to behave like a rational person, anyway.

  “Better than ink?” I offered, in an attempt to find balance. Enforcers embraced their scars with pride.

  “You bet,” she said, with a wide smile.

  I reminded myself to breathe. “Sit.” I pushed her to a kitchen chair and fetched my kit. Keen rose from under the table to follow me out to the SUV and back into the suite. To keep her from being underfoot, I tossed her a fresh bone from the fridge before returning to unpack my bag.

  Sam leaned over the table and held her shirt up while I cleaned two shallow gouges across her right shoulder blade. She never flinched or made a sound. She wasn’t wearing a bra, nor had I seen any discarded underwear from her quick dressing effort. Was full-body commando her usual style? I decided such conjecture didn’t help my current state.

  “Well, if you were Keen, you’d need stitches, but we both know your wulf will have you healed by tomorrow. Besides, I know you’d rather have the scars.”

  I lowered her shirt, trying to ignore the warmth of her soft skin. The moment I did so, she stood and moved away from me.

  Rubbing a hand through my hair, I grimaced at the sand that had found its way to my scalp. “I need a shower.”

  “I’ll report the wulfleng to Chris,” Sam said in an oddly constricted voice. “He’ll have to check for someone spying at his place.”

  “You really think whoever it is will be monitoring Chris’s place as well?”

  She considered. “Maybe. It’s weird no matter how you look at it, especially the timing. If it’s connected to Dillon’s death, that was two weeks ago. You transformed to wulfleng right after that. They could have tried to get a look at your wulf anytime since. So why now?”

  Something clicked. “The samples Doc Hayek took from us. If it turns out we’re infected with the mutant virus . . .”

  Sam’s eyes widened. “If there’s a mole in the lab, whoever created this virus might know you’re infected . . . or that we think you might be.”

  “Or the virologists have found something, and someone knows.”

  “They’ve only had them one day, Liam. That’s too soon for results.”

  I mulled that over, debating what I knew about virus testing. I’d grown accustomed to the snap tests vets used for the more common ones. Sam was right, it wasn’t likely they could confirm the mutant virus so fast. But if they’d been watching us . . . “What if whoever is monitoring knows about Peter and Josh’s memory issues? And recognizes it’s the wulfan reaction to the virus?”

  “If they know that, they’ve seen it before. How could they have seen it before? When have they seen infected wulfan? Who are these people?” Once again, her lip found itself captured beneath white teeth.

  The response from my inner hairy took my breath away, and I wrenched my mind back to reality. Christ, Liam. Get a grip. “If Jason’s found out anything about them, he would have told us, right?” Manitoba’s head enforcer was the lead on this project, but I wasn’t c
onvinced he’d keep us in the loop.

  “I think if Jason found something, he’d say so. I’d better call him after I give Garrett and Chris a heads-up.” She frowned as she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

  The questions swirled around in my brain, and no clear answers emerged. A surge of exhaustion almost brought me to my knees, and suddenly, I found myself disinterested in the answers. “I’m going for a shower.”

  She shot me a look but nodded and punched in a number. I didn’t stick around to find out whose it was.

  2

  The hot water soothed my tired body, but I couldn’t shut off my mind. As the heat pounded into me, my brain fixated on the images of Peter, currently a wulf without a human soul. The crazed look in his eyes as he crashed around, claws shredding everything in reach, until Chris darted him, and the drug took him under.

  Peter. Soon, Josh. And likely me. I was as helpless to save them as I was to save myself. A wave of dizziness made me sway, and I shuddered, leaning against the tiles, letting my head fall against the cool ceramic. My fists clenched. I fought the wave of rage and despair that washed over me, and I heard myself growl. My fangs erupted and blood ran from my lips into the water, dropping scarlet at my feet. I looked at my arms to see thick blond hair erupting in lines, racing from my shoulders to my wrists.

  I was dimly aware of Keen barking outside the door, but the battle with the wulf consumed me.

  “Liam!”

  The glass door to the shower flew open, and Sam stood there, her questioning expression transitioning to horror as she noted the tormented look on my face, my bloody fangs, and the shifting of muscles beneath my skin. Behind her, Keen whined.

  My brain hammered at me, screaming something I couldn’t hear. Blood. Finally, I recognized the danger imposed by the red fluid running down my chin into the water. Blood. Christ.

  “Stuy awuy!” I shouted at her, as my jaw fought to lengthen into a muzzle. I grabbed the frosted glass door and slammed it in her face, then dropped to curl around myself in the bottom of the shower while burying my head in my arms.

  Of course, being Sam, she didn’t leave, but instead hunkered down on the other side of the glass. “Liam,” she said. “Keen’s here, she’s worried about you. Think of her playing with Havoc, what good friends they are.”

  I groaned as my collarbones ripped free from my shoulders, but a part of my mind grabbed onto her voice like a lifeline. She continued to speak, keeping her tone light and calm as she talked of Keen and her big puppy friend, Havoc, the animals at the clinic, and what a lovely spring we were having. She painted vivid images of the good things in my life as I forced back the change. Snarling and snapping, it did not go willingly, but at last, I let my head fall against the tile, and I was human once more.

  Sam seemed to sense the moment and opened the door.

  “Stay out,” I said, surprised at how ragged I sounded. “Hand me the spray.”

  She passed me the bottle of antiviral solution, and I closed the door again. First, I hosed myself from head to toe, washing the last of the blood down the drain. Then I sprayed the tub, tiles, faucet, inside of the glass . . .

  The door opened, and Sam’s hand landed on mine, stopping me from squeezing the trigger. Until then, I wasn’t aware of how much I shook. She pulled me from the shower and started drying me off.

  “I can do it,” I said, trying to snatch the towel away.

  “Stop.” It was one word, but her eyes had the look again. I stopped grabbing at the towel and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Keen lower her butt into a sitting position.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I felt like sitting too. My submission lasted until she finished drying my back and chest to my waist. When she dried my butt, I shivered—and not from the cold draft through the open door. Prior to that, my hands provided a degree of modesty. In desperation, I reached to pluck the towel from her, and turned away to wrap it around my waist.

  “Good enough.”

  “Get into bed.” The odd constriction had returned to her voice. “I’ll bring you tea.”

  My legs trembled and threatened to give out along the entire length of the hallway. In the bedroom, I paused long enough to exchange the towel for my pajama bottoms before sliding between the sheets, pulling them well up onto my chest. Keen jumped up beside me and laid her head on my lap. I noticed that somewhere in the process, she had reclaimed her precious bone. At least she had her priorities straight.

  I closed my eyes, but the crashing echoed in my mind, along with the shrieking of claws on metal bars. You’re a wuss, I told myself.

  Sam came in with a tray, and I pushed a stack of books off the bedside table to make room for it. She called Keen off the bed, and my dog slipped off to curl up on her relatively unused mat. Although obedient in most regards, Keen far preferred my bed to her own, so I regarded this minor miracle with some amusement when Sam spoke.

  “They shouldn’t have let you see Peter in the cage. Or when they darted him.” To my surprise, she sounded angry. “I should have made you come with me to the house.”

  “I’m not a child, Sam. I’m letting it get to me.”

  “It’s not about being able to take it.” Her anger shifted and when she looked up, the silver of the wulf shimmered in her gaze. “It’s watching that happen to someone you love.”

  Suddenly, I wasn’t sure we still talked about Peter. Someone you love? Did I dare dream we had something that strong between us? Yes—the answer came from deep within. No—my brain shut it down. Until we knew what was up with the virus, I couldn’t let either of us go there.

  “Sam—”

  She was on top of me. I had no memory of the transition from bedside to bed, but my arms instinctively closed around her and she skated her teeth along my jaw to fasten her lips with mine.

  Yes! shouted my wulf.

  No! I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back. “You can’t. I’m infected. This can’t happen.” I panted the words, my body surging with need, the wulf snapping at my resolve. But fear for her overrode it.

  “I’m willing to take the risk.” Her eyes glowed silver and her fangs emerged. Was I speaking to Sam or the wulf? Is there a difference?

  “Well, I’m not. I won’t risk you.” My vision threatened to dissolve in a red tide and my entire body throbbed.

  She shook her head but allowed me to push her up, still straddling me. Only a few layers of fabric separated us, and it wasn’t enough. I grabbed her by the hips and moved her off me, sliding away across the bed.

  “Listun tu me,” she pleaded through her fangs. “Whut’s in me—it’s strong. Don’t yu feel it tu?”

  “What I feel doesn’t matter, not so long as I’m infected with this virus.”

  “Yu mught fught it. Hayuk sud so. We dun’t knuw fur sure yu evun have ut. ”

  “Come on, Sam.” My voice rolled like thunder. “Peter is sick. He has it—he got it from Dillon. Chloe, who got it from Dillon, bit Josh. Dillon bit me. Do you really need the test results? Chris knows it, you can see it in his eyes. Garrett too. Why can’t you see it?”

  Sam shot to her feet—her eyes wild as a summer storm. “Becuz it dusn’t mattur!”

  The pain in her voice silenced me.

  She dropped her gaze to the floor, breathing hard. When she raised her eyes again, they were pale gray—and human. She ran a tongue over her receding fangs.

  “It’s too late.” I could barely hear her now. “What we feel is not mere lust.” Her hands made a strange little tossing gesture, as if she grasped for words. “After Dillon, you were so determined to get to Josh, even though you were in pieces. I . . . admired that about you. I thought that was all it was. But the attraction has only increased.” She dropped her hands to her lap. “I’ve had relationships before, and I know this is different. So I talked to Josh. He told me about when he first met Chris.” She looked straight at me, her eyes liquid but her jaw set firm. “I no longer have any doubts. We’re soul mates, Liam. Our fates are connected, regar
dless of what we do or say. Denying the attraction is only torturing your wulf, and he will fight you to get to me.”

  I realized my mouth hung open and closed it with a snap. Soul mates? Despite the strength of the connection I’d witnessed between Chris and Josh and the ill-fated Dillon and Chloe, I’d assumed mates referred to an enduring love between two people, which, if I was honest, had happened from the first moment I saw Sam. But the word soul and the way she spoke of it made it sound more powerful—more fated—than what I’d envisioned.

  I shook my head. It didn’t matter. We couldn’t be in love because I had a future date with a cage and be damned if I dragged her in there with me.

  I remembered Chris’s words. Wulfan mate for life.

  No. Sam wasn’t destined for me. I had no future.

  “Sam, you can’t mate with me.” Even the word made the wulf surge within me, stealing my breath. I had to take a moment to fight him back.

  “Liam, you don’t get it. It isn’t a matter of choice. Fate has a hand in this.”

  “I don’t believe in Fate.” My voice was more growl than anything else.

  “I agree she’s a bitch, but that’s the way of it. You and I are destined to be together.”

  “Get out. Now.”

  “Liam—”

  “Out, Sam.” I used the same voice on her she’d used on me, and she flinched, her eyes suddenly snapping mad, her spine ramrod stiff. She turned and marched out of the bedroom. With a whine, Keen lifted her bone and rose to follow her, casting a glance back at me over her shoulder. I gestured with my chin for her to continue, and she did, trailing behind Sam.

  I slid from the bed and locked the door behind them.

  Then I crawled back in and lay there, thinking about Sam, the virus, mates, and Fate, always circling around again to Sam. I heard the shower running and later, footsteps in the kitchen. The click of dog claws followed her to the spare bedroom and the door closed.

  I gave her enough time to fall asleep before rising and trading my pajamas for sweats and a hoodie. I slipped my phone into my pocket and crept out into the hall. Much to my surprise, Keen was waiting for me. Still carrying her bone, she followed me through the house and out the kitchen door.