The Noose Of A New Moon (Wolfbrand Book 1)

by Helen Harper

‘I have a certain gremlin lawyer who’s looking into matters involving Martina. There has to be some way to help her.’

  Scarlett tutted. ‘You barely know the girl. She’s hardly spoken to you.’

  ‘You’re helping her almost as much as I am,’ Devereau pointed out. ‘And you’re risking more than I am because of who you are.’

  ‘I’m a sucker for damaged creatures,’ she retorted. ‘What’s your excuse?’

  ‘Well,’ he murmured, ‘if nothing else, it gives me a reason to spend more time with you.’

  Scarlett reached out and trailed her fingers across his collarbone and down the centre of his chest. Devereau shivered. ‘You don’t need an excuse for that.’ She leaned across, brushing her mouth across his with such a light touch that Devereau wasn’t even sure it had happened. ‘How are we going to find Dominic Phillips?’

  ‘We have Martina,’ he said simply, ‘she’ll tell us.’

  ‘She’s not told us anything so far.’

  ‘She will now,’ Devereau said.

  ‘Why would she?’

  He shrugged. ‘Because she has to.’

  ***

  Tempting as it was, Devereau didn’t want to risk stealing another car and incurring DS Grace’s wrath; he’d already pushed the detective to his limits. Neither did he think it was a good idea for Scarlett to arrange for a vamp car. They couldn’t risk any nosey buggers following them to see what they were up to. In the end, they grabbed an Uber.

  For the first time since he’d become a werewolf, Devereau found himself confronted with someone who couldn’t give a hoot about what he was.

  ‘Please,’ the driver said, ‘help yourself to any tissues or boiled sweets or bottled water.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Scarlett said.

  ‘What kind of music would you like to listen to during your journey?’

  ‘Whatever you enjoy will be fine.’

  The driver beamed happily. He glanced at them in the rear-view mirror. ‘You two are very much in love.’ Devereau stiffened but the man continued blithely, ‘I can tell these things from the way you are acting. Look at how you are sitting.’

  There was at least a foot between them.

  ‘And,’ the driver said, ‘the look in your eyes is one that I know very well. My wife and I have been together for twelve years and I love her more now than I did on our wedding day.’ He gave Devereau a knowing glance. ‘You’ll be the same. I feel it in my bones.’

  Devereau sneaked a look at Scarlett. From what he knew of her, lasting relationships of any kind were not even remotely her thing, but he couldn’t let such an obvious opportunity pass. He reached across, took hold of her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Oh, I can well believe that,’ he murmured. He kissed her hand and then drew slow circles in the centre of her palm with his index finger. Gratifyingly, she smiled in response, then she one-upped him by leaning towards him and putting her hand on his thigh.

  ‘We’re so much in love,’ she drawled. Her hand moved higher. ‘So very much. Between you and me,’ she said to the driver, ‘I think he’s going to pop the question any day now.’ Her fingernails dug suddenly into the flesh at the top of his leg and he sucked in a breath.

  ‘Well,’ Devereau said. ‘There’s no time like the present.’ He turned to Scarlett. ‘My darling. Will you marry me?’

  ‘Oh, I will.’

  ‘You will make some beautiful children,’ the driver declared in delight.

  Devereau’s grin widened. ‘We certainly will. And,’ he added, ‘I’m really looking forward to having Scarlett at home all the time. I know she’s going to love keeping house.’

  ‘Ironing is my life,’ Scarlett said. ‘There’s nothing more satisfying than making sure my man is out and about in crisply starched shirts.’

  The driver smiled until his eyes flicked to Devereau’s shirt. After being worn for several hours on a hard prison cell bed, it was creased and grubby. It was about as far from crisp starch as an over-ripe banana.

  ‘You’re making fun of me.’ The man didn’t seem particularly put out. ‘But I will have the last laugh. The two of you are destined to be together. I’m sure of it. We all deserve such happiness.’ He pulled up outside Mrs Foster’s house. ‘Have a good day now. Stay dry. There is a storm coming soon. And don’t forget to give me a good rating!’

  They got out. ‘Well, husband-to-be,’ Scarlett said, gazing at the house, ‘everything looks quiet enough. Hopefully our ferocious little charge hasn’t killed Dr Yara and this teacher woman yet.’ She wagged her finger at him. ‘Because if she has, you’re cleaning up the blood. I expect you to pull your weight around the home.’ Their eyes met and her voice changed. ‘That’s not as funny as it sounded in my head. You realise that there might well be carnage inside?’

  ‘It will be fine.’ Devereau wished he felt as confident as he sounded. He drew back his shoulders and walked up to the front door. Then he rang the doorbell and crossed his fingers.

  ***

  ‘Everything is great,’ Rachel Foster said. ‘Tickety-boo. We were a bit worried about where you were and why you were gone for so long, but there have been no problems here.’

  Devereau glanced down at the carpet. There were several fragments of white porcelain lying by his feet.

  ‘I dropped cup,’ Dr Yara said. ‘I am very clumsy woman.’

  ‘Surgeons don’t tend to be clumsy, do they?’ Scarlett asked, picking up two broken pieces of wood from a nearby table.

  ‘That’s a craft project,’ Rachel said. ‘I’m making stakes.’ She made a stabbing motion with her hand, gesturing towards Scarlett’s heart.

  Scarlett looked at Devereau. ‘She’s spicy,’ she commented. ‘I like her.’

  Devereau sighed. ‘What happened?’

  Yara and Rachel exchanged glances of mutual resignation.

  ‘Martina, she grow more anxious. You were not here. This place is new. She start to panic and,’ Dr Yara shrugged, ‘she lose control.’

  Fuck.

  ‘It’s really not that bad,’ Rachel said. ‘We dealt with it.’ She turned her head slightly. As she did so, her hair fell to one side, revealing a long scratch down the side of her neck. It looked painfully deep.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Devereau murmured.

  Rachel straightened her back and gave him an imperious look. ‘There is nothing to apologise for.’

  ‘Martina is in no danger from me,’ he said, realising why the women were trying to pretend that everything was fine. ‘It doesn’t matter what she does. She’s not responsible for her actions when she turns into a wolf. I can assure you that I’m not going to hurt her.’

  Scarlett crossed her arms. ‘You might not have any choice,’ she said softly.

  Devereau glowered at her. That sort of comment wasn’t helpful. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Dr Yara shot her with a tranquiliser then we managed to get her into the garden and barricade her in the garden shed.’

  ‘Martina is locked in your shed?’

  Rachel shrugged helplessly. ‘It’s the best we could do. We had to reinforce the door to keep her inside. As far as I can tell, she’s still in her wolf body. She’s beginning to come round – I’ve heard a few whines. And I’m not sure it’s safe out there. The wind is getting stronger as we speak.’

  Dr Yara bit her lip. ‘I cannot sedate her again. Is too dangerous. All those drugs…’ She shook her head. ‘Is not good. Too much and her kidneys suffer. Her liver too.’

  Devereau exhaled. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Okay. We were never going to be able to rely on tranquilisers as a long-term measure. And you’re right, we can’t keep her locked up in a garden shed. There has to be another way.’

  Scarlett opened her mouth to speak but Devereau frowned at her. ‘Not that way.’ She closed her mouth again.

  ‘What do we do, Mr Webb?’ Dr Yara asked. ‘You are wolf, too. You must have idea.’

  Rachel gazed at him with anxiously. ‘She’s a child. No matter what she’s capable of, we can’
t keep her locked up. It isn’t right. We’re denying her every essence of freedom and life and … and … and … happiness. It isn’t right,’ she repeated.

  Devereau stilled.

  ‘What is it?’ Scarlett asked.

  ‘Happiness,’ he said. ‘The Uber driver said it. Rachel said it. It’s what we all strive for, right?’

  She pursed her lips. ‘That and good sex.’

  ‘Good sex leads to happiness, dear, that’s the whole point.’ Rachel’s eyes focussed on Devereau. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I have an idea,’ he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘For the record,’ Scarlett said, ‘I think this is a very bad idea. And you do remember that we’re trying to stop an international trafficking ring before you get thrown back in jail and charged with various counts of murder because you’re the easiest person to blame?’

  Devereau smiled at her. ‘What’s the worst thing about being a supe?’

  ‘All the restrictions,’ she answered back instantly. ‘We’re treated as a sub-species because we’re a little bit different.’

  Rachel snorted. ‘A lot different.’

  Devereau held up his hands. ‘We chafe under the supe laws because they give us less freedom. What’s the worst thing about what we discovered at the warehouse?’

  Scarlett’s lip curled. ‘The slaves, of course.’

  ‘Their freedom was taken away from them. Their choice was taken away from them. And so was their happiness.’

  ‘Those two people we saw are still slaves, Devereau. And there are probably plenty more like them. We haven’t helped any of them.’

  ‘Yet,’ he answered. ‘We haven’t helped them yet. We will. Right now, we have to focus on Martina. We help her, we help everyone else. And this is the way to help her.’

  ‘You might end up getting somebody killed.’

  He gestured to the shadowy trees in front of them. Their branches were swaying in the wind but they provided some shelter from the worst of the elements. ‘We’re on the outskirts of the city. It’s dark, and there’s nobody else around. It will be fine.’

  ‘I’ll remind of you that statement later.’

  He nodded at her. ‘I’ll take full responsibility if anything goes wrong.’ He tilted back his head and looked at the moon hanging in the night sky and so very nearly full. Then he walked round to the back of Rachel’s car.

  Martina was curled up in the back, her yellow wolf eyes narrowed at him. There was no mistaking her vicious intent. All her instincts was telling her to kill him, Scarlett and anyone else who got in her way.

  Devereau was starting to understand why his own people had been so terrified of him. A werewolf – even a twelve-year-old werewolf who was tied down and suffering the effects of a sedative – was incredibly intimidating.

  He tapped on the glass. Martina didn’t move. He crouched down until he was face to face with her. ‘I’m going to let you out in a moment,’ he said, speaking loudly enough for his voice to carry through the window. ‘And then we’ll see what you’re really capable of.’

  She was in wolf form but she could still communicate. At his words, her hackles rose on the back of her neck and her mouth drew back in a tiny snarl. Right now she was far more wolf than girl, but she understood what he was saying. She recognised that she was being challenged – and she was more than ready to meet that challenge.

  Devereau turned to Scarlett. ‘It’s probably wise if you’re well out of the way.’

  She snorted. ‘I can look after myself.’ All the same, she moved back out of Martina’s line of sight. ‘You know,’ she called to him from the darkness, ‘you’re in more danger than I am. Her animal recognises your animal and wants to destroy it.’

  ‘Well,’ Devereau said under his breath, ‘I’d better be damned careful.’ He reached for the door and opened it.

  Martina launched herself forward, a ball of flying fur. At the last second, before her teeth sank into his flesh, she was forcibly halted. The rope holding her in place strained with the tension.

  Devereau clicked his tongue. ‘Now, now,’ he chided. He stretched his fingers out to the knotted rope. Despite his confidence in the face of Scarlett’s doubt, he wasn’t sure this was going to work but he had to try. He drew in a breath and untied the knot. ‘Now you can go,’ he whispered.

  This time Martina didn’t move. She glowered at him but her suspicion at his actions led her to stay where she was. Devereau took a step back, then another and another. When he was two metres from the rear of the car, Martina reacted.

  She leapt out and planted all four paws on the ground. Her ears were back, flat against her head, and there was a ridge of fur raised along her spine. She huffed out a breath and it clouded in the cool night air.

  Devereau stared her down. ‘Wait,’ he commanded, the compulsion threading through his voice.

  Martina growled.

  Devereau said it again. ‘Wait.’

  Martina’s body quivered. Her yellow eyes spat promises of blood and vengeance. She bared her teeth, showing him that she’d killed before and she was ready to do so again. He could smell her fear but underlying it was something else. It took him a moment identify it: power. What he smelled was her power. She shook out her fur and tensed, the muscles in her haunches bunching together. Then she flew towards him.

  Devereau ducked in the nick of time as Martina’s wolf sailed over his body. He felt the soft edges of her fur brush against the back of his neck. A split second later she was gone, disappearing into the night.

  ‘Well, that didn’t work,’ Scarlett said conversationally from somewhere behind a tree to his right.

  Devereau flashed her grin. ‘Wait,’ he said a final time. And then he allowed his wolf to burst free and took off after Martina.

  The wind whipped at his fur as he bounded into the darkness, leaving the small car park and Scarlett behind. The night called to him and the air itself seemed to be alive with a myriad of scents and sounds. He could hear the distant motorway and the odd passing car to the east. Water in the wide river was burbling over stones and reeds to the west. His nostrils prickled as a badger nosed its way out of its den and an owl swooped overhead in search of tasty prey. And yes, his damned balls were itching again.

  He picked up speed, running harder and weaving in and out of trees. His paws barely made a mark on the soft, grass-covered ground. Devereau’s blood sang. This. This was what it meant to be a wolf.

  A flicker of movement caught his keen eye. He thundered forward on Martina’s tail, but he didn’t need to see her to know that he was gaining on her. She was too young, and she didn’t possess his strength and speed. But this wasn’t like it had been with the gunman when he’d sent him running across the playing fields; this wasn’t about catching her or bringing her down. It was about allowing her the freedom her werewolf required.

  Up ahead she changed course and turned left. Initially, he adjusted his trajectory and prepared to follow but then he realised what she was doing and slowed his speed. Smart. She’d worked out that she couldn’t outrun him so she was using a different tactic.

  He slowed to a walk, keeping his nose raised so he didn’t lose her scent. He needn’t have worried; Martina had circled round and was now behind him. She wasn’t running away. She’d decided that she wasn’t going to be prey. She had decided that she far preferred being the predator.

  Even though he’d been expecting it, he still felt a jolt when he heard the sudden rush of air as she threw herself forward. Her body landed on top of his, her claws raking through his thick fur to his skin. Her jaws opened wide then snapped down, sinking into the scruff of his neck. He felt a brief surge of pain. He shook himself and she tumbled to the ground, but he’d been careful and barely winded her.

  He dipped his head and gave her the tiniest nip on the shoulder. Then he licked the same spot and pulled back to allow her to spring up again.

  Martina faced him and he met her lupine eyes with his own. T
his time something was different. Her hackles were still raised, but they were less pronounced than before and her ears were more pointed.

  Devereau hadn’t been a werewolf for long. He hadn’t experienced a full moon yet and he didn’t have a clan to teach him what was what, but somehow he knew. He dropped his head slightly and lowered the front part of his body. It wasn’t submission – it was play.

  Martina stared. Perhaps she didn’t understand. Why would she? But then, with very slow and deliberate movements, she tilted her head to the side. A second later, she threw herself at him. This time her claws were sheathed.

  He let her pounce and she landed on top of him again. This time he allowed her to remain where she was for several seconds before he shook her off. He batted her muzzle with his paw and her tongue lolled out of her mouth. He danced to the side and she danced after him. Then he spun round and took off once more, racing through the woods. He didn’t attempt full pelt – he didn’t want to lose her – but he maintained enough speed to test her and force her to exert herself. He ran around an oak, down a small dip, across a tiny stream and through a sparse thicket of bushes and branches. Martina was on his heels the whole way.

  He reached a slope. Instead of powering up it, he dropped his speed so Martina could draw level with him. Together they raced upwards as the slope grew steeper. Exhilaration and joy spun through him. He pushed on and crested the hill, before finally coming to stop. Throwing back his head and seeing the moon again, pregnant and white and glowing, he opened his mouth and started to howl. A second later Martina joined him and their calls combined in a strange yet beautiful chorus. This world was theirs. He knew it like he knew his own name. This was happiness.

  Suddenly, there was a rustle to the side and a musky scent filled the air. Badger, perhaps, or stoat. Martina’s howl stopped abruptly and she twisted towards the source of the sound, ready to attack. Devereau didn’t look at her; all he did was growl once. A heartbeat later her shoulders dropped in acquiescence, and in that moment he knew he had her.