The Wolf's Concubine

by Erin St. Charles

  He led the way past a posh boutique thrift store, a rack of lime green ride-sharing bikes, an art gallery, and a tattoo parlor. The establishments were all in a row in incongruous hipster fashion. Even with as late as it was, every storefront was open.

  She was surprised to note a food truck parked near the end of the block. Its sign said it offered something called “fusion tortas.” They must have been popular since there was a line of young bohemians wearing orange beads and costumes, all holding tall tumblers of beer.

  Halloween, she remembered, taking in the scene.

  Phelan steered her into a storefront that was nestled between an art gallery and the requisite independent coffee shop that was a staple of all hip, eclectic neighborhoods. There was no sign to indicate what sort of business this was, but Lola guessed it had to be Phelan’s agency. A dark-haired, bronze-skinned woman sat at a desk in the reception area, her face illuminated by the glow of her Omni.

  She looked up from the holographic screen, cocked her head to the back of the space, and muttered in a flat, nasal tone, “They’re already waiting on you upstairs.”

  Lola was uneasy about being taken “upstairs,” or who “they” were, but she followed Phelan anyway. She found it odd that the hipster touches seemed to have followed them from the street into the office in the form of exposed red brick walls, a shiny espresso machine, and a pool table that dominated the space.

  Phelan gestured toward a staircase on the right. After a pause, she went ahead of him. She was still wearing her bulky overcoat. She didn’t know if she felt pleased to be so covered up, or sad that he could not see her backside.

  Phelan steered her into a room that had to be for interrogations. There was a metal table bolted to the floor, two chairs, and a single window with security mesh covering the panes. Lastly, an enormous mirror covered most of one wall, making the room look for all the world like the set of cop show. The air was stale; the room, small and stuffy. It didn’t smell like Woodland Creatures, but the atmosphere felt almost as oppressive.

  “Wait here,” Phelan told her gruffly.

  He turned and walked away, leaving her to stare at his taut rear-end as he left.

  Chapter 4

  “What does she know?”

  Phelan narrowed his eyes at Mac Bodie, his boss and the director of the agency. Like almost every other minotaur Phelan had met, Mac’s demeanor was gruff and his speech blunt.

  He had recently mated one of the social workers who tended to the red-light district sex workers, but the pairing had done little to soften the man who always managed to look grumpy and intimidating.

  Bubba, Phelan’s first cousin and Mac’s right-hand man, had insisted that Mac was not really as intimidating as he looked. But Phelan found it difficult not to be at least a little uneasy around the man who now glowered in front of the two-way mirror, his glare locked on Lola.

  Phelan glanced to his right and saw the other men also studying Lola through the two-way mirror. Bubba had been joined by Blake, another enforcer.

  Phelan couldn't help but think that she looked so fragile for someone who had fought off a changeling with such ferocity.

  “I don’t think she knows anything,” Phelan answered Mac.

  The almost seven-foot tall man crossed his beefy arms over his massive chest. A low rumble of disagreement reverberated through his chest.

  “Why would she know anything?” Bubba placed a hand on Mac’s shoulder in a calming gesture. “It’s good timing that we were there when this all went down.”

  Mac didn’t look convinced.

  “So, you think she’s in cahoots with the critter who attacked her?” Bubba asked.

  Mac grumbled. “You never know.”

  Bubba grinned at the big man and gave him a congenial slap on the back. “Come on, man. Let’s talk with her, send her on her way, and you can go home to Diana.”

  At the mention of his mate, Mac’s countenance morphed from one of irritation to a pleased, wistful smile. Phelan couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen so soft an expression from any minotaur. The running joke was that minotaurs didn’t actually have teeth because no one had ever seen one smile.

  "Do you think she was a failed abduction?" Blake asked with a sharp look at Mac.

  The agency had been tracking the person or persons responsible for a series of abductions of women working the establishments of the red-light district on Harry Hines Boulevard.

  “She doesn’t look any worse for wear,” said Bubba. “But if they’re collecting these women, and not just kidnapping and killing them, they probably don’t want to damage them.”

  "There has to be a connection," Bubba said thoughtfully. "Julie Wheeler worked at the same brothel as Dolores Black."

  "We were attacked by that changeling when investigating her disappearance," Mac rumbled with a sour expression.

  Julie Wheeler, a bar girl who worked at the same brothel as Lola Black, was the first sex worker the agency investigators had been aware of, but she was far from the first victim. Mac and his mate Diana discovered Julie missing during a routine wellness check. While looking through the woman’s apartment, they were attacked by a changeling, formerly a creature of myth. They again ran into the changeling at a concubine’s fertility rite and with Blake and Bubba’s help managed to fight the creature off. It struck once again, kidnapping Diana as she was en route to visit Julie Wheeler in the hospital. Mac and Bubba tracked Diana and the creature to a dilapidated house where they were finally able to kill the changeling. The forensics team discovered a tunnel underneath the house that led to an underground fallout shelter.

  Investigators had found evidence that Julie Wheeler, as well as at least another twelve women, had been held in the shelter. The case had officially been referred to the FBI, but no progress had been made in the past few months. Unofficially, Bubba and his team continued to look into similar disappearances of women who fit the profile: former aspiring concubines without any close family or friends to report them missing. Lola Black was on this list. She and several others had been unofficially been placed under surveillance.

  Why the changeling had continued to attack Diana remained a mystery. As a social worker with close family ties, had she gone missing, her co-workers, clients and family would all miss her.

  Bubba didn’t trust humans to run a thorough investigation when shifters were the victims. Neither did most enforcers, including the ones who stood watching Lola through the two-way mirror. Bubba ran his own investigation, unofficial and under the radar, with a few hand-picked enforcers from the agency.

  Phelan tried to hide his agitation at how his mate was being treated with such suspicion. He still wasn’t ready to tell anyone about his situation— especially without telling Lola first, and having an opportunity to woo her.

  “The changeling adds another dimension to the case,” Bubba rubbed the stubble on his chin.

  “One changeling is odd,” said Mac, shrugging. “Two is suspicious. We know this is a new one because the other one died.”

  “Died?” asked Phelan. He hadn’t heard this part of the story.

  “Yep,” said Bubba. “Changelings are able to assume the form of any sentient being by coming into contact with the subject’s DNA. Only the gods have the ability to breed and control them.”

  “The one that attacked Diana, my mate, was in the process of morphing into Julie Wheeler when we stumbled across it,” Mac continued. “We think it somehow imprinted on Diana and followed us to a… work event.”

  “It just so happens I was there, providing backup,” explained Bubba. “It attacked me, came in contact with my DNA, and assumed my identity to kidnap Diana.”

  Mac went on, “The last time we saw the changeling, it was dissolving into a puddle of goo. We think it was poisoned by whichever one of the gods had it under control.”

  Blake spoke, his deep voice rumbling through the silence. “She doesn’t look like a concubine.”

  Phelan bristled unconsciously, tak
ing offense on his mate’s behalf. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The two men cast puzzled looks at Phelan who rolled his eyes. “I think we're forgetting who the victim is here. She did her best to fight off the changeling. I don't think we should be questioning her motives.”

  Lola sat in the interrogation room with her spine straight, a defiant look on her face. The ratty bag was still clutched tightly in her hand, at odds with her regal demeanor.

  Phelan didn’t appreciate how his colleagues were talking about his mate.

  “It’s our job to questions motives,” Mac said in a chastising tone.

  Blake spoke up again. “What's in the bag? She's got a tight grip on it.”

  “I don't know," Phelan grumbled, "but she didn't trip any alarms.”

  Even as he acknowledged the truth of this statement, he realized with a sinking feeling that he hadn't searched her bag. How had he missed that? It was standard operating procedure to search belongings of any civilians brought into the agency’s offices.

  The search was redundant, what with the threat detecting drones that hovered at every door and window of the office. She could have brought anything with her into the agency. Searching suspects and witnesses was routine. What was wrong with him?

  Well, he knew what was wrong with him. Meeting a fated mate wasn’t an everyday occurrence. He'd been one of those who’d thought fated mates was all bullshit. Until it happened to him.

  And, there she was. A tiny little thing with large doe eyes, smooth brown skin, and perfect cupid’s bow lips.

  As if sensing his scrutiny, she looked around the interrogation room warily. He wondered what was going through her mind. Was she frightened? He would protect her until death, so she didn’t have to worry. He realized he needed to let her know this. He only had to figure out how and when.

  He watched, mesmerized, as she rolled her neck in exhaustion, her movements languid and sensual. Then she stood and quickly shucked off her overcoat.

  Phelan’s eyes swung to the other men, on alert for any male interest his comrades may be directing toward Lola. Mac remained standing with his arms crossed, looking grumpy. Bubba studied the woman with wolf-like perceptibility, cataloguing her movements with detachment. Despite his womanizing reputation, Bubba appeared unmoved by the beautiful woman in their interrogation room.

  But Blake stared openly, slack-jawed, as Lola revealed more of her smooth dark skin. Phelan thought her pure white t-shirt set off her skin like a devil’s food cake set on a white tablecloth. The t-shirt fit the round contours of her body, emphasizing her bountiful breasts and the narrowness of her waist, dipping into a V that attracted Phelan’s eyes to the hunter’s bow shape of her collarbones. His fingers itched to trace the lines of those collarbones. Even better would be feathering kisses along her shoulders...

  She draped her coat on the back of the chair and nervously wiped her hands on her jean-clad thighs. She stepped up to the two-way mirror and looked into it, her eyes meeting Phelan’s, although there was no way she could see him, was there? She cocked her head, frowned, then sat again with the bag on her lap.

  Phelan looked at the other enforcers and realized Blake had his eyes trained on the tiny woman, his interest obvious. Phelan clenched his jaw, fighting his anger. He didn't like the other man's attention on Lola. A warning growl bubbled up in Phelan’s chest which he covered by clearing his throat.

  “So, who's going to debrief her?” Phelan asked, trying to sound casual. He kept a wary eye on Blake, whom Phelan silently resolved to throat punch should the other man show too much interest in Lola.

  If Blake volunteered for the duty, Phelan would have to throat punch him.

  “This is my op,” Bubba said, sounding resigned. “I’ll do it.”

  “I’ll help,” Phelan put in a little too eagerly, drawing stares from the other three men.

  Bubba nodded and headed for the door. Phelan ignored the pointed looks from the other two and followed his cousin into the interrogation room.

  Chapter 5

  Lola wondered if she had gone into shock.

  Here she sat, in a cold metal chair, waiting an interrogation. Not even an hour ago she'd been attacked by a thing and almost kidnapped. Yet she was cool as a cucumber, strangely calm, and with no more stress than she might experience waiting for a Glide running late. Yeah, she had to be in shock...

  She looked at her overcoat with a frown. It was most likely ruined from the creature’s blood, but at least her outfit underneath remained pristine.

  The door opened and she snapped to attention. Phelan, whom her mind preferred to call Big Dipper because of his freckles, followed another man into the room. She sat up a bit higher in her seat, raised her chin, and eyed the two men warily.

  They looked enough alike to be brothers. The other man’s hair was a dirty blond, while Big Dipper’s was midnight black. Phelan’s eyes were a bright turquoise blue, while the other man’s eyes were light brown. Almost topaz, really.

  Their facial features were nearly identical, though: long, sharp noses, thin lips, high cheekbones, and pale skin screamed a family resemblance. The similarity was finished off with tall, lanky bodies, though the other man had several inches on her ersatz protector. Low body fat, but with sturdy stances that said they could both handle themselves in a fight, either as human or as wolf. Tall, good-looking drinks of water.

  Big Dipper’s face was unscarred, while the other man had a long, thin white scar that started at his hairline, bisected his eyebrow, continued underneath his eye and down his cheek, stopping at his jawline. While both men had a brooding countenance and resting bitch face, the scar gave the other man the look of a sadistic prison guard. Scarface.

  Scarface put a hand out to her. “Hi. I’m Bubba Cermak.”

  She blinked and tried not to show any alarm at Bubba’s scar. She gave him a firm handshake, her eyes darting back and forth between the two men.

  She blurted, “Are you brothers?”

  “Cousins,” said Bubba.

  “I want to start by saying that you aren’t in any trouble,” Bubba leaned forward to peer into her face as she recoiled. “You’re here only as a witness, as well as a victim, and we just need you to tell us what happened.”

  Lola gave the two men a penetrating glance. They looked back at her calmly.

  She realized they may have been watching her for some time. Lying to them would be a waste of effort. She briefly considered it, anyway, but decided not to waste the time. They seemed trustworthy, and what choice did she have? Neither man threw off bad vibes, so she told them everything, starting with her uneasy feeling at the Glide. When she finished her tale, she leaned back and looked directly at Bubba, raising her chin in challenge and crossing her arms over her chest.

  She wanted to see if he really believed her. For reasons she could not fully understand, she was careful to ignore Phelan. Even still, she sensed his eyes on her, watching her every movement.

  “Do know who attacked you?”

  Who? Not really a “who,” more like a “what.”

  She frowned, confused. “Is that a trick question?” She’d been very descriptive in her explanation about the creature that attacked her.

  The two men exchanged a look.

  “Ms. Black, you said you never got a good look at your attacker.” Bubba stared at her with assessing topaz eyes. If she didn’t know better, she would think he was testing her. It was true, she hadn’t seen her attacker. But she knew it had wrapped itself around her like a snake. She knew the shrieks of pain she heard when she’d stabbed her assailant didn't come from anything human. She had no idea what otherworldly creature her attacker had been, but she knew it wasn't human.

  “No, I didn’t," she said defensively. "But it wasn't human.”

  Bubba watched her impassively, as if he didn’t want to give away his reaction. Phelan looked at her curiously, his eyes sparking with interest.

  “Why do you say that?” Phelan asked. His deep, gravelly
voice getting under her skin and she let out an involuntary shudder. Her nipples pebbled and she rubbed at her arms against the goosebumps pricking her skin.

  She hunched her shoulders and hoped neither saw the state of her nipples. Her eyes darted between the two men, gauging their reactions. Bubba's neutral expression made him difficult to read. Phelan looked worried, the firm lines of his face positioned in a frown.

  It was strange to be the subject of this kind of male attention. She was used to being ogled by the brothel patrons. But those looks were always sexual, whereas Phelan looked at her with something akin to concern.

  Being the object of another person’s concern was new for Lola, and she didn’t know what to make of it. She kept her face calm as her mind roiled with competing thoughts and emotions. Confusion at being the focus of Phelan’s tenderness. The moment they’d shared at the stoplight when he’d told her, she smelled wonderful cycled in a repeating loop in her mind. It was a memory she wanted to tuck away for safekeeping, but also wanted to hold in her hands to figure out what it meant.

  She gave herself a mental shake, forcing herself back to the here and now. She needed to finish the interview, then get the hell out of here.

  “Ms. Black?” Bubba prompted, snapping her out of her spinning thoughts.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “What makes you say your attacker wasn't human?”

  “I don't know... it just seemed so strong. It was like it was everywhere at once.” She shivered as the memories came back to her. Fear, and having to defend herself through that fear, wore on her.

  “Lola, are you okay?” Phelan asked.

  She heard the concern in his voice. but she carefully kept her gaze on Bubba. She knew the best thing to do at the moment was to avoid looking at him. She wasn’t sure she could handle his tender expression.

  She was starting to feel vulnerable, defenseless. Yep, time to get out of here.