by L. E. Horn
He’s stronger.
So she’d sensed it, after all. Yes, I admitted.
A quick jolt of worry followed by a flood of reassurance. Use the bond. It’ll help.
He’s strong. I’m stronger.
A surge from her: a renewed sense of purpose. I will find you.
I know. And I did. Sam always got her man. Or rather, her wulf.
I stayed with her until her presence diminished, a mere thread that told me she lived, but nothing more.
* * *
The boost of energy from Sam’s visit revitalized me, pushing back the fog of fever and uncertainty, and subduing the wulf.
We had three days until the full moon. I was running out of time.
Sitting on the desk, I faced the group. All except Keith looked at me expectantly.
“We all have a past we may not be proud of. Some of you have shared parts of your stories and I’m honored that you trust me with them. I’m about to ask you for something difficult, and you don’t have to do it if you aren’t ready, but I need you to share some of it with everyone in this room.”
Chairs creaked as bodies shifted.
“I don’t ask this lightly, and I have a reason—I believe that in the act of sharing, you will own your past. It loses its power over you if it’s in the open, and it will help you control the emotions these memories cause.”
My eyes drifted over Nate. His face had gone pale, and I understood how hard it would be for him to open up.
“Share only what you’re comfortable with,” I said.
Eyes around the table skittered away from mine and from each other. Everyone looked away except Danny, who looked right up at me. I nodded encouragement.
He’d already told me part of his story. But I knew he needed to own it. Everyone’s eyes skated around to lock on Danny as he began.
“My last foster father was a mean drunk—he’d hit anyone who pissed him off. Mostly his wife, but also my foster sister and me. One night I fought back. He went for my sister and—and I lost it. He was bigger than me, but I knew where he kept his gun.” Danny broke off, looking at the table, where one long finger traced lazy circles. “I didn’t mean to shoot him, I just wanted him to stop.”
Everyone had gone very still.
“His wife didn’t back me up about the beatings, but the cops saw the bruises. I ended up in juvie for two years.” He shrugged. “Could have been worse.”
His story horrified me. We’d all heard hell stories about juvie. I had no idea how Danny had kept his optimistic outlook on life after two years in that place.
“That’s where I met Keith.” He nodded toward Keith, who sat slouched in his chair. “After I got out, I tried to find work, but without my grade twelve, couldn’t make a go of it. I’ve been on the streets ever since.”
To my surprise, Keith looked up at me and blurted, “My old man was a prick too. If I’d had a gun, I would’ve shot him. But I didn’t. So I left.”
Quite the speech for him, and I nodded my appreciation, getting a glower for my trouble.
Travis and Lucas looked at each other. Lucas said something in Cree and Travis shrugged. I waited, now familiar with the pattern of Lucas communicating through his cousin.
“Our story is kinda boring. Lucas and I were fostered together when my dad couldn’t look after us anymore. He was pretty screwed up.” He glanced at Lucas, and the smaller man nodded, as if giving permission. “Our last family didn’t use the money to feed us,” he shrugged. “They needed it for rent. Lucas and I ate mostly at the shelters, and one day, we stopped going home. We took small jobs—raking leaves, mowing—to buy what we needed. I kinda eat a lot.” He grinned—his teeth white in his broad face—unabashed by their life. Lucas kept his gaze on the table. The simplicity of their story skirted their years in the system and the difficulties they’d faced. I thought they’d been lucky to have each other. Travis would have been an effective barrier against the world.
Focus on the table turned to Nate, who shifted uncomfortably. Reese, sitting at the end, spoke instead.
“I’ve been knifed twice. One I deserved. The other, I didn’t.”
He had us riveted. Knifed. Twice?
“First time, one of my so-called foster brothers stabbed me in the gut. He went to juvie. I went to another family. When it didn’t work out, I took my chances on the streets.” He paused, then raised his eyes to scan everyone before forging on. “I’m the prick you hide from at night. I’ve done just about everything to survive. I’ve stolen and beat people up. Some deserved it, some didn’t.” Long fingers tapped the table once, twice. “After a while I lost track of which was which. I don’t deserve a second chance, but it looks like I might get one anyway.”
I wanted to tell him he was too hard on himself, but something in his eyes stopped me. They remained clear as his words spoke of the guilt he carried. Danny’s jaw worked, then he took a closer look at Reese and kept his silence. It was Nate who spoke.
“We all deserve a second chance,” he grated. “You do what you have to—to survive.” He shifted position. “I can’t tell you everything. Not yet.” His eyes snapped to mine, and I nodded. His story was too deeply twisted for him to open up completely. “I did—things—to keep my brother safe. I didn’t think I had a choice at the time. I know now I was a victim.” He swallowed and his gaze returned to mine. “It wasn’t my fault.”
I smiled, and to my amazement, the corners of his mouth lifted, and he nodded back at me.
Reese’s eyes had gone dark. “Hey, man. I’m sorry about what I said—”
Nate cut him off. “It’s okay.”
All eyes turned to me, and I realized I’d started something I couldn’t run from. To earn their loyalty, I had to give them something back.
“My story is simple—I’ve told you some of it. My parents died in an accident. I was placed in foster care. I wasn’t a tough kid, and it was rough.” I shook my head. “I got beat up—a lot. Finally, when I was fifteen, I left for the streets. Later, a counsellor reconnected me with the foster system and I ended up going to university. I graduated, had a good life.” I paused. The first part was easy, it was the truth. I didn’t want to lie to these guys, but the camera on the wall dictated otherwise.
“I met some people that became very important to me.” Peter, Chris, and Sam. “They changed my life. But there was an accident.” Well, getting bitten by Dillon was accidental, sort of. I’d told Danny I’d been hurt in a gas explosion, so I went with it. “I was responsible. Someone died.” The words popped out of the depths of my mind, and they startled me. I hesitated before finishing it. “I couldn’t cope. I lost it all. Ended up back on the streets.”
They absorbed this in silence. Had they sensed the evasion in my story? But then, they had likely all held something back. Except maybe Danny. Nate’s red brows had lowered. I knew he searched my story for the link he was sure we had, the shared experience. Trevor’s face flashed through my brain—a link I didn’t yet understand.
“These stories give us the ability to both test our control and to support each other. Let’s start with breathing and meditation, to find our balance before we start poking and prodding.”
Ace dropped in and leaned against the wall as I guided my group through another session. His intense energy put everyone off, particularly when he planted himself behind them to glare at me. The wulf in me snarled and pushed to challenge him, but I squelched his efforts. James Bond could never have been a wulf. It seemed that subterfuge was not a natural wulf trait.
Ace’s hostility worried me. Was it me or what I was doing? By the time we dispersed for dinner, I was confident my guys understood the basics of control. My guys? I realized I’d invested too much of myself and had come to think of them as a part of me.
I lost it all. My words came back to haunt me. The last thing I needed was more to lose.
18
As we ate, I couldn’t help but notice the other men kept apart from our group, sitting in pairs or a
lone, with empty tables between us and them. I thought back to the previous few days and realized they’d been doing that for a while.
“Is there a reason the others avoid us?” I asked Danny.
“Yesterday, I tried inviting some to training, but they’d barely speak to me. I guess they think we’re in a gang or something.” He shrugged. “Some are paranoid.”
I winced. Paranoia would backfire when the wulf came calling. How many of these men would survive the moon?
The wulf did come calling, but for once it wasn’t one of my own. Voices, increasing in volume, came from the serving counter where the cook was backing away from a man leaning toward him.
“I know you have more in the back, so go get it,” the recruit said, a man in his thirties with a face hollowed by years of drug use.
The cook scowled at him. “We served supper thirty minutes ago. It isn’t my fault you came late to the party. There are plenty of vegetables and noodles, but you’ll have to go without meat for tonight.”
The recruit replied with a deep, animal growl, and all the hair on my neck stood on end. The cook’s eyes widened and he backed up another step—which was when the recruit jumped the counter in a fluid movement and pinned the cook to the wall with fingers sprouting claws.
The room erupted in shouts and the two wulfleng guards leaped to the cook’s assistance, but not before his neck received a nasty gash. It surprised me that the wulfan didn’t change to protect himself—his fear of Ace’s reprisal must be more than that of being diced by a recruit. Although Ace and his minions might be authorized to take out any one of us, I doubted that privilege extended to the cook.
The restrained man snarled and screamed obscenities as they dragged him from the room.
Ace strode into the shocked silence that followed and addressed us. “You are now at the stage where the serum triggers your body to change. Until you achieve control, we will have to confine you to your quarters. This is safest for everyone. There are consoles installed in your rooms for entertainment while you complete the process. If any of you require treatment for discomfort, you may call for the doctor. We will provide your meals.”
Seven wulfleng filed into the room. The recruits glanced at each other. Even if we all rebelled, we didn’t stand a chance against the mutant wulfleng. Of course, that might not stop anyone from trying.
The menace radiating from the staff, however, convinced everyone that behaving like sheep was the safest course. We allowed ourselves to be escorted to our tiny cells.
I caught Nate’s eye as he filed into the room across from me. Danny was two doors down. Lucas, Travis, and Reese were at the end of the hall. I lay back on the bed as my door slid shut and the latch engaged.
There would be no more training. Whatever knowledge my guys possessed would have to carry them through the full moon and beyond.
If I was the praying type, now would be the time to do so. I closed my eyes and thought of Sam.
* * *
I shifted the bag over my shoulder and checked that the can was still there. It stretched my allowance to keep buying the food, but since she’d had the kittens, she needed it.
We’d had a dog before my parents died. I still worried about her, even two years later, despite the fact my social worker reassured me she’d been placed in a loving home.
I heard the voices before I rounded the corner to the alley and my blood froze.
“So this’s what he’s been hiding. A bunch of mangy cats.”
Oh, no.
I slowed and hugged the brick wall, peering around the corner with one eye.
Coby stood in the alley with four of his friends. James reached down and grabbed one of the kittens, holding it by one hind leg. It squalled and twisted in his hands.
Something within me burst into flame. I was on them before they even knew I was there, grabbing the kitten from James and shoving it beneath the dumpster. I wheeled on the boys.
They towered over me, but I was on fire. “Leave them alone!” I yelled.
“Now, that ain’t very respectful,” one of them said, moving into my space. I didn’t back away, but soon I couldn’t even if I’d wanted to—they crowded around me, pushing and shoving. My bag got yanked off my arm and thrown against the wall. The first hit slammed into my abdomen, doubling me over. A clout to the head dropped me to the ground. I curled into a ball, knowing the feet would be next.
“Hey! Back off!” It was Trevor.
The other boys stopped kicking me, but they didn’t step away. I experienced a surge of fear. Coby and his thugs had grown—two were now taller than Trevor.
He faced all five, not backing down an inch. “I said bugger off.”
No jeers, no taunts came in return, and I knew we were both in serious trouble. “Trevor, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“No. This has gone on long enough.” He dropped his backpack and let his hands hang loose. “If you want to play, come play with me.”
They crowded toward him. Trevor moved like lightning, feet flying, and one crumpled to the ground, clutching his groin. Another gave a yelp of pain and staggered back when a fist connected with his chin.
The solid thump of fists hitting flesh reminded me that Trevor, fast as he was, was up against experienced street kids. I unfolded from my fetal position and crawled to my bag. It was loaded with library books. I stood, and my first swing nailed the biggest kid across the back of the head.
“What the . . .” He staggered and twisted to see me, winding up for another round. I ducked one fist, but he was too fast with the other. It caught me right below the eye and spun me into the wall.
When I saw clearly again, two of them had Trevor by the arms, and I saw a third pull something from his pocket. Something bright and sharp.
“No!” I screamed, but Zeke’s fist shot forward and buried the knife to the hilt in Trevor’s stomach.
The dark eyes widened, and he crumpled as the others let go of him. Coby looked at the knife wielder, and I saw by his expression that his friend had gone further than he’d expected.
“Effin’ hell,” he said.
“No more stickin’ his nose where it don’t belong,” the knifer said, his expression cold.
“I’m outta here.” Still clutching himself, one boy skittered from the alley. In moments, the others had followed.
I fell to my knees beside Trevor.
“Trevor, I’m so sorry,” I said. “This is all my fault.”
Trevor looked up at me. His skin had gone an odd gray color. “Fight for what you believe.” He closed his eyes. “My grandfather was right.” He took a deep breath and winced. I had to lean closer to hear his words. “Brothers look out for each other.”
My eyes snapped open. I lay in bed and panted with reaction as I forced teeth back into my gums and buried my claws in the thin blanket.
How could I? How could I forget? Now, years later, I experienced a renewed sense of loss. For a few precious months, I’d had a brother. But that day, he’d taken a knife for me. And later, in the hospital, he’d died.
How could I forget him?
Following the grief came a pain so intense it left me breathless and panting, my fangs aching to burst free.
I still experienced that white-hot rage when someone threatened the innocent, be it human, or animal. It had been there in my eight-year-old self, and it remained with me now—an anger I tapped into, time and again, to bring on the wulf.
But now, I recognized the hidden truth. Buried beneath the urge to protect seethed another emotion, one powerful enough to derail me—guilt that twisted and ate from the inside out.
Chris had warned me that the wulf would find my secrets. Until now, I didn’t think I had any. I thought I’d dealt with my difficult childhood. Resilience, courage, compassion. Those were the gifts it had given me.
But now I knew the true cause of the rage that simmered beneath the surface and why the wulf had come dangerously close to erupting days before he was due.
; Guilt.
Trevor. I’m so sorry.
My body shook. If it hadn’t been for the strength lent me by Sam’s recent connection, I might have lost the battle then and there. Instead, I evoked memories of her as I concentrated on my breathing, striving for calm while my inner demon howled.
* * *
I sensed it coming, my second full moon.
My bones ached and my skin tingled like an electric current passed through me. When I looked down at my arms, all the fine hairs stood on end.
The rooms had been quiet all day, but now the residents paced in their tiny spaces. Supper came and went, and someone used the intercom to demand the doctor. When no one answered, the man cursed a blue streak. His fist hit the wall.
Come afternoon, Ace appeared in the hall. “Tonight you will change form for the first time,” he said. “I recommend you stay calm through the next few hours. When we dim the lights, remove your clothes. Embrace the wulf, and he will be a powerful friend to you. Reject him at your peril.”
With that, he left. I shook my head. As propaganda for a successful military venture, it was a great, gung-ho speech. As advice to help these men through the worst trial of their lives, it was next to useless.
When he’d gone, I stood close to the door.
“Remember—focus on controlling your emotions. Do your best to guide the process from start to finish. Practice your breathing. You guys are ready for this.”
“Shut up, Picasso,” from down the hall.
“We can do it,” Danny said quickly. “Don’t worry, Lee.”
I returned to my cot and meditated, but restlessness penetrated my peace. Eventually I rose and jogged on the spot, then dropped and did push ups. I missed my runs through the woods in both human and wulf form, and I thought of Keen, her silly, panting face and intent expression. She must think I’ve deserted her. I frowned and concentrated on breathing, slow and even. Thoughts of Sam calmed me.