by Lee Mae
“Great. A renegade wolf-thing and a renegade brother. Couldn’t ask for a better start to my day.”
Sam took the stairs two at a time. Bec was out of control and finding him…and stopping him…was what he needed to do. The last thing he’d ever imagined doing as alpha male of this pack was tracking down his own brother and bringing him to heel.
If the wolf-thing were a lycanthrope, the only way to kill it would be to sever the head from the spine. The traditional methods of killing werewolves, shooting them with a silver bullet or impaling them on a silver knife, had no effect on lycanthropes.
Even though they resembled werewolves, lycanthropes were different. Besides being more powerful and larger, they had the ability to change at will. They weren’t bound to the cycle of the moon and it freed them, sometimes making them more dangerous, if they’d gone feral and out of control. And that usually happened when they’d eaten human flesh and grew to like it.
Sam dragged his thoughts back to the present, to the thing that was killing people in his city, the thing that had attacked Taryn. And to his brother. Things were getting too far out of control and Sam needed to get control of his brother, and his pack, before it all spiraled away from him. He’d been too passive as a leader, too passive in dealing with Bec. Maybe he’d been too passive in letting his deserter pack members back without a fight. It was time to get tougher, stop trying to please everyone. And he’d start with finding Bec and finding a way to kill the lycanthrope.
He detoured away from his room, climbing the stairs past the third floor and up the narrow back stairs to the attic space. There were all kinds of junk packed in the attic. Whether the thing was a lycanthrope or something else, there might be something useful somewhere in the cluttered confines of the fourth floor.
The smell hit him almost immediately after he opened the door, the now-familiar fetid, sickish smell from the alley. It was strongest in the back corner, near the boxes that held his father’s belongings. Some of the boxes were torn open, their contents strewn across the floor. He didn’t recognize any of the items tossed about and quickly stepped over them as if they were toxic.
The attic was stuffy, dust motes swirling around him as he moved through the crowded space. He wrinkled his nose, disgusted at the stench. He finally found the box he was looking for, shoved against the back wall and he pulled it beneath the oriel window and took off the cover. Beneath a sheaf of papers, he found the book, dark and heavy, the cover heavily embossed leather.
His father had kept a sort of diary, a journal, of important events and this was it. The book smelled like his father and he closed his eyes, breathing in memories before forcing himself to open the book.
There were births and deaths, mates’ and members’ names added. Sometimes there were entries about significant events. Sam remembered sitting on the floor as his father made entries in the leather-bound book, but he’d never really paid much attention. At the time, it had seemed cumbersome and old-fashioned, a waste of time. But maybe whatever his father had left behind might now prove to be very useful.
The sight of his father’s angular handwriting brought a rush of memories, of sitting beside his father, watching him write by lamplight in the study downstairs. Trying to understand what it meant to be an alpha male, listening to other pack members come and go, telling him their problems and listening to his father dispense advice, logic and, most of all, enforcing rules and discipline.
That’s what was missing. Sam shook his head. He had no idea how to discipline anyone, including his own brother. He could give advice, solve problems, but he had yet to learn how to deal with conflict. And now Bec was running wild, out of control, and it was Sam’s fault.
The book was dusty, the pages brittle. He flipped through, scanning the dated entries. Most were straight records of pack members, but there were also several longer entries dealing with specific events. As he glanced down the page, one entry, in particular, stood out.
His father’s careful writing deteriorated to scrawls across the page. Sam read quickly, slowing down as he came to one passage, squinting in the dim light at the sloppy handwriting.
When he finally set the book aside, he had his answer. The wolf-thing wasn’t a lycanthrope; it was something else. Bec had been right about that. But by being different, it was potentially more dangerous.
Because the wolf-thing was family.
31
She’d thought about asking the cab to wait at Lori’s apartment, but Taryn didn’t think she had enough cash to be that extravagant. Besides, she needed a shower and change of clothes, and Lori would be there and would probably want a blow by blow of her night with Sam. So, she reluctantly let the cab leave.
Sure enough, Lori was waiting and by the set of her shoulders and thin line of her mouth, something was wrong. Taryn got the distinct impression Sam was not going to be the topic of conversation.
“Where have you been?” Lori was sitting at the tiny cluttered kitchen table, a forgotten cigarette teetering on the edge of the ashtray.
“I left you a note…I was with Sam.” Taryn headed down the hall to the bathroom, kicking off her shoes and pulling off her shirt, tugging at the zipper on her skirt as she walked. It occurred to her she could have just left Sam’s house wrapped in a sheet and save the wear and tear on her clothes.
“Yeah, I get that part. But you’re supposed to be at Ryan’s, like now.” Lori followed her down the hall and leaned against the bathroom door. Taryn turned, scowling, pulling her hair back up on top of her head. No time to wash and dry it now.
“I know. And I’m trying to get ready, so…if you don’t mind.” Lori stepped back into the hallway, her frown deepening as Taryn closed the door.
Taryn turned on the taps, waiting for what seemed like an eternity for the water to get hot before finally giving up. She danced briefly through the lukewarm stream, trying hard not to get her hair wet and was back out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, in a matter of minutes.
When she opened the bathroom door, Lori was still standing there, cigarette in hand.
“So, why are you late?” Lori followed Taryn down the hall to the bedroom.
“Why are you so interested in my life all of a sudden?” Taryn rummaged through one of the drawers she’d stuffed her clothes in, pulling out panties and a bra. Lori perched on the edge of the bed, watching Taryn.
“And do you mind? I’m trying to get dressed.” Taryn held up her clothes. “Can this wait?”
Lori rolled her eyes but stayed where she was, only turning her head. Taryn scowled, blowing out a sigh of frustration. She didn’t have time for whatever had pissed off Lori. She dropped the towel and pulled on panties and bra, grabbing her jeans and a t-shirt from the floor.
“Fine. I’m dressed. What’s got you so mad at me?”
Lori turned around, blowing out a puff of smoke. “Just that I got you this job, which you really needed, and you’re blowing it off for some guy.”
“So, you’re still upset that I’ve got a serious thing going with Sam and you’ve got a revolving door on your bedroom? We’re not in high school anymore, Lori. I think we’re past that, don’t you?” Taryn tore the band out of her hair and started brushing it furiously.
“I’m way past caring if you’ve got a fuck buddy. Who you bang is your business.”
Taryn winced. Lori got bitchy sometimes, but this had crossed a line somewhere and Taryn had no idea how to back this thing up.
“So, what is bothering you? Spill it, because I’ve got a job to get to.”
“Yeah, now the job’s a big deal. Like I said, I got you this job, put myself on the line for you…”
Taryn stopped brushing her hair, watching Lori closely. Lori stubbed out her cigarette and sat on the bed, arms folded across her chest. Taryn recognized the look in her eyes; she was hiding something.
“Put yourself on the line how? You said Ryan was looking for someone. You never said it had anything to do with you, besides passing along his busin
ess card to me.”
“It’s complicated. Let’s say I owed him a favor and you were the pay off.” Lori got off the bed, striding to the door.
“I don’t want to make you late…more than you already are.” She walked out and Taryn heard the apartment door slam.
Her face felt numb and her hands were shaking. Fighting with Lori was something she avoided at all costs. It left her feeling raw and unsteady, like the only post holding her up had suddenly been chopped at with an axe.
She was way past late now. The only shoes she could find were a pair of old sneakers and she slid her feet into them, the laces untied, threatening to trip her as she hurried down the hall. She tucked the laces inside the shoes, found her purse and keys and left.
Taryn pushed open the door to Ryan’s shop, out of breath from practically running all the way from Lori’s apartment. It was so quiet that she was sure he was gone, but when the damned bell above the door clanged, he was out from behind the beaded curtain. Taryn slid behind the table that served as her desk, dropping her purse on the top.
“About time you get your ass in here. Do you know what time it is?” His voice was rough and shrill and Taryn instantly went cold inside, her hands clutching her purse. He was practically vibrating, hands shaking, whether from anger or something else, Taryn didn’t know.
“I’m sorry, Ryan. I…overslept.” It sounded lame, even to her own ears. But it was the truth.
“I don’t give a shit. Invest in an alarm clock. But don’t be late again.” He was back through the curtain, the beads swinging violently, before she could answer.
Still shaking, she sat down on the kitchen chair behind the table. She took a few deep breaths, waiting for her racing heart to calm down. He was right, she’d been late. He had every right to be upset. But the tone of his voice, his posture, everything about the few sentences he’d barked at her brought back a flood of images of dinner with her parents, the accusations, the shouts and insults.
But this wasn’t dinner with her parents, this was her job and Ryan was her employer. Even if he was a druggy sleaze bag. He still held her paycheck and she still was supposed to show up on time and do her job.
She grabbed the appointment book on the table, flipping the page over for that day. There was one name penciled in for about an hour from now. She read the name, tried to remember it so she could at least pretend to greet the guy. But she knew whoever it was probably wouldn’t even give her more than a nod and a wave, before heading back through the beads to take care of whatever business they had with Ryan. She thought the tattoo business wasn’t a very good cover, if Ryan wrote down people’s actual names, if they were coming to buy drugs.
The appointment book was old and tattered, pages going back for almost a year. She idly flipped through the book, stifling a yawn. She could have slept for hours more, curled against Sam, his warm solid body a safe refuge. It had been a strange night indeed, amazing sex followed by true confessions followed by more amazing sex.
And the biggest truth of all. Sam was a werewolf. In the mad dash out of his apartment, and then the mad dash out of Lori’s, she hadn’t had time to even think about Sam. But now, with nothing ahead of her but hours sitting here, she could take her time and work through what he’d said, all that it meant for him to tell her and all that it meant to their relationship.
He’d been in the alley; he’d been the wolf she’d touched. If she hadn’t seen that with her own eyes, touched his silky fur with her own hand, none of this would have been believable. As it was, she still saw it through a slightly drunken haze.
But the wolf was real, and Sam was that wolf. She thought about what it would be like watching him change. He’d said it hurt, but just for a second. Was he naked when it happened? It was hard to imagine that sexy body turning in to a four-legged wolf. The only things that seemed to be him were the jet-black fur and the silver eyes. And yeah, now that she thought about it, those were Sam’s eyes, glowing silver in the moonlight.
Taryn jumped as Ryan pushed his way back through the beads, cringing slightly as he came across the room.
“Hey, sorry for yelling, but you know, like, this is your job.” His voice had his usually mellow distant tone, the slightly stoned hippy reemerging.
“I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Yeah. Don’t let it. Lori said you were good for this and I trust her. She and me go a long way back and I wouldn’t want anything messing up the good thing we got going here.”
Taryn nodded, everything Ryan said confusing her completely. Lori had never said she knew Ryan that well or for that long. Something wasn’t adding up here, but Ryan was the last person she wanted to ask about it and Lori probably wasn’t ever going to speak to her again.
“Okay, far out. I got a, um…client…in a few minutes. I gotta go get some cigarettes next door. Have them wait in the back, okay?”
Taryn nodded but Ryan was already out the door. As soon as she could, she was going to start looking for something else, some other dancer job. As much as she hated it sometimes, dancing was at least something she was good at. She didn’t need to think about it, just move to the music, which she liked to do anyway. The guys, well, she’d dealt with creeps and sleazy guys longer than she could remember. And at the club, there was usually someone to look out for her, the bouncer or Mack or someone would come running if she called for help. Here, she was on her own with Ryan.
She turned back to the book, flipping through the pages, reading the names. There were some names repeated over and over, pretty much in a pattern. Made sense, if he was selling.
And then she saw Lori’s name penciled in. Lori didn’t have any tattoos. Taryn flipped back further. Lori’s name was there, every week, for weeks.
That made it pretty clear. Ryan had been Lori’s dealer for a while. Whatever was between them probably had to do with drugs or a deal gone bad. And Lori owed him something. She’d been clean, for a really long time, so the debt must have been pretty old.
The bell above the door jingled and Taryn quickly flipped the appointment book closed and pushed it away. There was a short guy standing in the room, looking at her through thick glasses smeared with fingerprints. It was amazing he could even see Taryn to talk to her. But he did.
“So, you’re Ryan’s new girl. He said he had a hot piece behind the desk and he sure wasn’t lying. So, you’re a stripper? Yeah, and you’re, like in the business now, with Ryan, right?” The guy moved closer to the table, leaning forward, peering at her closely.
“Yeah, real hot. I think we should have a talk soon…”
His sentence was mercifully cut short by the sound of the bell again. Taryn looked past the guy, almost relieved to see Ryan in the doorway.
“Hey, dude. Sorry, I was getting cigs from next door. Come on back.” Ryan was in the doorway to the back room, holding the beads aside.
The short man gave Taryn one more lascivious look, licking his lips, resembling nothing more than a near-sighted lizard.
“You and me.” He pointed his index finger at his chest and then waved it between them. “Later, okay, beautiful?” And then he winked.
Taryn’s throat convulsed as she swallowed, and she made a retching sound. She wanted another shower to wash away the lingering effects of the guy’s eyes crawling over her body, leaving behind almost a palpable coating of pervert slime.
As far as Taryn was concerned, quitting time could not come soon enough.
32
Sam was dressed, downstairs in the living room, the members of his pack assembled. He had the journal in his hands and the weapons he’d found upstairs on the coffee table. The guys were milling around and he patiently waited a moment for them to settle. But they were restless and then all pretense of patience went out the window.
“Sit down.” His voice was louder than he’d anticipated, but it was strong and deep. The pack members were instantly quiet, slipping into chairs and onto the large couches.
“I’ve made
a discovery about what’s been killing people in the city. I found my father’s…Luca’s journal…” He held up the book. “And I’m pretty sure I know who…and what is doing the killing.”
Finn started to speak but Sam held up his hand. “Not until I’m finished.” Finn sat back, a faint scowl in his face, but he remained quiet.
“There’s an entry here from my father, and his brother, Arden. In that entry, my father describes a fight Arden had with a lycanthrope. A fight in which he was injured. The fight…and the injury happened just at sunrise, as Arden was changing, so he ended up with a mortal injury in human form, more or less. According to the journal, his throat was almost completely torn out, leaving a huge gaping wound and massive blood loss.”
Sam noted briefly that the group was completely silent, all eyes fixed on him. Good. About time they paid attention to what he had to say.
“My father tried to take care of his brother’s wound, but Arden was caught mid-change, between werewolf and mortal, and apparently, the lycanthrope bite kept Arden from returning to mortal form, or returning to a werewolf. It also kept my father from healing him in any way.
“They’d brought Arden back here to the house and sometime during the next few hours, he disappeared without a trace. They suspected he’d crawled off to die, but there was no proof. They never found a body. The only thing they did find was matted gray hair on a broken window ledge and a…” Sam opened the journal. “A ‘rotting foul stench that permeated the room and the bedding.’ Apparently, they packed Arden’s belongings in a box and stuck it in the attic, where I found this.” He held the book up by the spine.
“The attic smells like the stench in the alley, like the wolf-thing we encountered. Arden’s belongings are dumped all over the floor up there.” Sam paused, meeting every eye in the room.
“I think it’s Arden. I think he’s come back from wherever he’s been for all these years, and for some reason, he’s on the attack. And I think he was here, in this house, looking for something of his.”