First Bite (The Dark Wolf Series) (9 page)

Hey, what’s in my head is private! Quit listening!

Quit broadcasting. It’s one of the things you need to learn, especially since you’re convinced that someone’s looking for you.

Great, just great. The good news just kept rolling in. Neva flopped onto the ground, not even bothering to shake herself off, and watched the moonlit water drip like jewels from her coat to the clover leaves. She glanced at the big, tawny wolf, which was busy rolling on its back with its paws in the air.
What planet are you from?

Why?

Because you might be a werewolf, but you sure don’t know very much about them.

Travis rolled upright and curled his lip at her.
And you think you do?

Look, I’ve seen somebody die during their first turning. And I think maybe he was the lucky one. Because everyone who succeeded became a stone-cold murderer. I can’t do that. I won’t do that. Not for Meredith, not for anybody. I’m not a killer.

The tawny wolf gave a derisive snort.
Everyone is, given the right circumstances. But once you learn control—

Neva sighed deeply, then drew in air along the olfactory glands that lined her muzzle. The lakeshore was rich with scents—each plant had its own. She could scent that there was a bird sitting in a nest suspended in the taller reeds nearby. A small furry mammal—maybe a raccoon—was hunting along the shore where she and Travis had emerged from the forest and—

She could smell a Changeling. She couldn’t fathom how she knew what it was, but her wolf had snapped to attention.

Travis was already on his feet.
Say nothing, think nothing
, he ordered.
We’ve got to get the hell out of here. Now.

Neva followed close behind him as he arrowed up the bank and into the cover of the forest.
How are we going to get the truck?

Travis dove into a narrow game trail. Thick brush arched overhead, barely allowing any moonlight to spill through to the dark forest floor. He ran full out, grateful that Neva was able to keep up, at least for now.
We’ll find another truck.

There was a pause.
You stole it, didn’t you?

No more talking. I’m not the only one hearing you.

He figured her question was better left unanswered anyway. How could she understand the kind of life he’d lived, the lengths he’d been forced to go to in order to stay off the grid? He had no bank account, no credit cards, no driver’s license—at least, nothing in his own name. He dared leave no trail that would lead to him, paper or electronic. The only ID he’d ever had was a church baptismal certificate for Travis Williamson—from 1920. Tough to present
that
to the DMV.

In fact, it had become downright difficult to be a long-lived Changeling in a human world. If he was still with a pack, it would have been different. Most packs these days either cultivated contacts or had a couple of their own members who were computer savvy enough to create a lifetime’s worth of human records for each of the pack’s members. Illegal, of course, but only according to human laws. For his kind it was a matter of basic survival. Besides, most Changelings now hid in plain sight by living as
humans. They had jobs and paid bills and went to school and mowed the grass and did all the everyday things that humans did.

A lone wolf, without access to pack resources, had a harder time of it. Survival depended a helluva lot on “borrowing”—cell phones, vehicles, credit cards, you name it. And in Travis’s case, it also depended on staying clear of other Changelings. He wished he knew if the creature that was following them was after Neva.

Or after him.

It was dawn before Travis let them stop for more than a few minutes. They settled into a stand of brush near a highway. Neva’s paws were raw and sore, and she was starving again, but she had to admit they’d covered a lot of ground.

Almost forty miles.

She made a derisive noise in her throat.
I’m not falling for that. I might be new, but I’m not gullible. No way did we run that far.

Have it your way. I guess the highway sign is just plain wrong, then.

What sign? She stuck her head up and looked around. A green sign in the distance spelled out Idaho Falls—153 Miles in big white letters.

We drove about two-thirds of the distance before we lost the truck. We ran overland the rest of the way.

Yeah, but forty miles?

Look it up. Natural wolves can cover fifty miles or more in a day while they’re just looking for food. Changelings can go farther and faster—and we had a lot more motivation.

Four-legged motivation, she thought, and automatically looked behind her.
Do you think he’s gone?
She hadn’t sensed the werewolf that was following them for hours.

I don’t know. Did you recognize the scent at all?

No.

Then maybe we blundered into someone else’s territory and they were just checking us out.

Someone else’s territory. Neva hadn’t given much thought to the existence of other werewolves, other packs. But here was Travis, and somewhere in the miles behind them was another creature like themselves. A
Changeling
. She’d never heard that word outside of storybooks, where it usually referred to the creature left behind when a fairy stole a human child.

One word can have many meanings.
Travis rolled in the dewy grass, jaws grinning, tongue lolling. Changeling
is the closest human word to our name for ourselves, our people. Our kind.

Your kind, not mine.
Neva looked away from him.
I didn’t sign on for this.

That might be, but you’re one of us now.

I’m not! I’m nothing like you!
She jumped to her feet, baring her teeth at him and growling low in her throat.
I’m not a mindless slave, and I’m not a murderer.

Travis rolled over and regarded her coolly.
Do I seem like a mindless slave to you? Do you see anyone pulling my strings?

She didn’t know how to respond to that. Sure, Travis seemed independent, a rebel, a real lone wolf—and she nearly groaned at the pun—but what if it was just a very good act? Maybe he was really a hit man or some kind of enforcer, someone the packs hired to handle troublemakers. Like herself.

A hit man? Really?
Travis rolled his eyes.

Actually, more like a goon or a thug
, she thought at him deliberately. Of course, if he was really out to kill her, why save her from herself? Why not just let things run their course? She thought briefly of the battered Toyota in the alley. If she’d found it just a little bit faster, she wouldn’t be here.

You didn’t really want to die.

So what?
She furrowed her wolfen brow, hoping that created a frown. Travis certainly seemed to frown as much in lupine form as he did as a human, so she knew it was possible.
Sometimes what you want and what you have to do are two different things.

For the briefest of seconds, surprise flashed in his eyes. It was shut down almost immediately, however, and his frown deepened into a glower.

Why are you by yourself?
she asked suddenly.

What the hell kind of question is that?

You seem to know all about packs and sires and the whole werewolf-slash-Changeling routine, yet here you are all by yourself. Where’s your pack?

Maybe I like being by myself.

She snorted.
If that was true, you wouldn’t be grouchy all the time.

I am
not
grouchy
. He was silent for a long time after that, resting his chin on his paws with his eyes closed. Neva didn’t believe for a moment that Travis was really sleeping—more likely, he was ignoring her—but there was no denying that the need for rest was a heavy weight pressing down on
her
. She gave in and stretched out under a low-hanging sumac shrub. How odd to be so comfortable lying on the ground, she thought. Didn’t werewolves get cold?

One of the perks of being a Changeling—you can camp anywhere.
Travis’s voice in her head sounded far away.

Werewolf. And get out of my head.

Changeling. You’re the one who’s thinking too damn loud.

See? Grouchy.
If there was a reply to that, she didn’t hear it before sleep claimed her.

The full moon’s light turned the fifty-foot circle of smooth white stones to glowing silver orbs. The flattened grass within the circle gleamed, too, liberally coated with white ash and pale corpse powder. Nine naked humans, the latest inductees, had been thickly painted with a mixture of the noxious stuff as well. They stood huddled together in the very center, not knowing what was about to happen to them but not willing to make a break for the thick, dark forest beyond the bright ring, either. Not with the cold light reflected in the eyes of several dozen wolves.

Her
wolves, Meredith thought with satisfaction. She owned them, all of them, and after tonight, she’d own the ones in the circle as well. Of course she’d enjoy having more servants to order around, but that was simply a nice perk. The real prize was power, and while all living creatures produced energy, werewolves produced it in spades. With the level of magic she now commanded, she could draw raw power from all of them. And they wouldn’t even know what was happening.

Meredith’s pack stood as silent sentinels as the moon reached its highest point and the magic infused in the ashen mixture was activated. Miniature whips of red lightning crackled along the pale ground within the circle, licking at the feet of the captives. Most, however, weren’t paying attention. Instead, some clutched at their heads or their stomachs, some fell to their knees and retched, one slapped at himself as if bees were attacking him.

It wasn’t long before all were writhing on the ground.

One after the other, most of the humans in the circle began to scream. As their bones reshaped themselves, as their skin stretched, as their muscles tore and reformed. Meredith didn’t need to use her preternatural senses to hear the wrenching and popping of joints over the hoarsening cries of her victims, all signs of the shift progressing nicely. She still wished they’d hurry the hell up—she was anxious to get to the next part,
her
part.

At least a ninth conscript had been found in time for tonight’s turning. The guy didn’t have much between his ears, but any port in a storm. The circle now contained six men and three women. Numbers were as powerful as words, and Meredith had been concerned that she’d have to make do with an inconvenient
eight
instead of a potent
nine
. She put aside the fact that there could have been
several
more if she hadn’t been so distraught over Geneva’s escape and killed them. Three times three would work well enough, however. No volunteers, of course, but that was immaterial. By this time tomorrow, they’d believe they’d signed on of their own volition.

They’d believe anything she told them.

Meredith rubbed her finger over a tiny snag on one of her freshly done nails, and hoped the nail would hold out for a little while longer. Not that she minded the cost of the exquisite black-diamond polish, but the manicurist was presently on her hands and knees in the middle of the circle. What if the woman hadn’t recovered sufficiently to redo her work tomorrow? Meredith could attempt a binding spell on the nail, of course, but magic was so very difficult to finesse on teeny-tiny things—it didn’t have the laser-like precision to work only on her nail without affecting the finger.

Finally the dark blush of fur covered the contorted shapes, and a few moments later seven new wolves stood on shaky legs. Two lay motionless, however, and Meredith cursed viciously as she crossed the ring of stones and strode over to her new wolves. She toed one of the unmoving heaps of fur and spat on it, furious that she’d have to find someone else to do her nails. The other body she ignored entirely in favor of looking over the new crop. Five gray wolves, one black, one rusty cream. All cowered before her but one, one of the grays, Riley something or other. He’d been nearly as much trouble as Geneva from the very beginning. A big
wolf, his ears flattened against his broad skull and he snarled as he glared hatefully at his maker.