Master of Wolves (14 page)

Arthur's dark, perceptive gaze met hers. “A trap?”

She shrugged. “Could be.”

Guinevere frowned. “I don't think so. I saw it. I can feel it. If it was simply some kind of delusion, I'd know.”

Arthur looked worried, apparently sensing something through the mental bond he shared with his wife. “It does feel real, but…”

Llyr moved around Arthur to Gwen's side. “If you'll allow me, perhaps I can determine whether what you sense actually exists.”

The former high king looked at his wife, who nodded slightly. Her face was as white with strain as his was.

Diana watched as Llyr rested one big hand on Guinevere's forehead and closed his eyes. Through their own psychic bond, she sensed his magic rise and twine around the Maja, probing gently.

Finally her husband stepped back, concern on his handsome face. “She's definitely got some kind of link to one of the Black Grails.”

“But that was vampire magic, Llyr.” Diana frowned. “I recognize the smell.”

Gawain moved to her side. He was a big man, with shoulder-length blond hair and a neat goatee. “Why would one of Geirolf's vampires show us where to find a Black Grail? It makes no sense.” His nostrils flared, as if sensing rot. “It's got to be a trap.”

“Or perhaps someone is trying to get rid of a rival,” Arthur said, frowning heavily. “Either way, we have no choice except to follow up on this.”

“I agree,” Llyr said. “But we'd better be ready for anything. I have the distinct impression someone's playing a very dark game.”

 

Celestine collapsed, sweat
and blood streaking her naked body, plastering her black hair against her back. Her head ached like a kettle drum.

The Sidhe king had almost tracked her spell right back to her. She'd barely managed to block his probe.

Despite that scare, her plans were coming together. Earlier she'd punched a hole in the temple's thick shields during her little visit to Korbal's grail. Now, thanks to this new spell on Guinevere, Arthur and his forces had a fix on the cup's location. They'd attack soon, in the next day or so, unless she missed her guess.

Celestine smiled slightly.

All hell was about to break loose. And she meant to take advantage of it when it did.

 

Faith poured shampoo
into her palm, then paused for a sniff. It smelled rich and delicious, the scent so intense she could almost taste crisp green apples on her tongue.

She breathed in, savoring the tangy odor, then started rubbing the shampoo into her hair. Everything seemed so much more sensual since her Change. Even her skin felt more sensitive, responding to the slightest touch. Her entire body tingled with energy and life.

No wonder she was in such a good mood.

Which, when she stopped to think about it, was pretty strange in itself. She'd become a werewolf. She'd lost her job, and her former coworkers had tried to kill her. She couldn't even return home to get her things for fear they'd jump her again. If Jim hadn't gone shopping for her, she'd have nothing to wear except a torn, bloody uniform. Any sane person would be depressed.

Yet Faith felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. And it wasn't difficult to figure out why.

In the back of her mind, she'd known for weeks something was going badly wrong in the Clarkston police department. All the signs were there—officers falling silent when she'd walked into the room, ugly sidelong glances that blended guilt and hostility.

Then there was Shay's death.

Weird murders weren't, in themselves, all that unusual. People killed each other in disgusting ways all the time, even in towns as small as Clarkston.

No, what had set off Faith's mental alarms was the department's attitude toward this particular killing. It had smelled far too much like a coverup, but she hadn't wanted to believe cops could be involved. For God's sake, they'd cut out Shay's heart.

Now that Faith knew the truth, everything was black and white. She didn't have to worry about being disloyal, because her fellow officers had shown absolutely no loyalty toward her or anyone else.

Oh, maybe they were under some kind of spell, but they could have resisted it. Gary Morrow had proven that when he'd questioned the plan to kill Faith. If they'd all fought like that, the witch might have been unable to control them. Judging from the chief's comments, they'd been persuaded to cooperate with promises of immortality and power, not to mention sheer peer pressure.

They were bad guys, and they had to be stopped. Period. In this particular case, there were no shades of gray. Which was pretty well the way she liked it.

Then there was Jim.

Faith smiled, her thoughts drifting to the night before as she stroked her soapy palms over her breasts. He'd made her feel cherished. Almost…

Loved.

Her smile faded. It was one thing to enjoy her new senses, but she couldn't afford to let them deceive her. Jim was a great guy, but a good chunk of his response to her was born of her body's pheromones. She couldn't afford to take what he said or did too seriously.

Maybe she should put on the brakes…

Yeah, right—if she was an idiot.

Jim definitely didn't find her lacking as a woman, and after Ron's rejection, that felt pretty damned good. Besides, fighting the Burning Moon was an exercise in futility. So she'd just roll with it. The sex was fun, and the partnership with Jim could obviously be very useful in stopping the witch.

But she couldn't afford to deceive herself about how either of them felt about the other. This wasn't love, it was sex. And it wasn't going to last forever.

As long as she kept that fact firmly in mind, she'd be okay.

 

Dressed in one
of Jim's T-shirts and a ridiculously big pair of his nylon shorts, Faith headed downstairs to rustle up something to eat.

He still wasn't back from his shopping expedition, so she grabbed an apple and wandered into the living room. More for something to do than anything else, she switched on the ancient television and sat down to watch the noon news.

She was crunching into the apple when the perky blond anchorwoman assumed an uncharacteristically somber expression.

“A Clarkston police officer is dead, victim of a one-car accident when he lost control of his patrol car last night.”

The image cut to a mangled police car wrapped around a tree, a blue tarp thrown over its driver's side to shield the body from cameras.

“According to an investigator with the Tayanita Coroner's Office, Officer Gary Morrow died instantly when he lost control of his Ford Crown Victoria. The car went off the road, hit a ditch, and went airborne before slamming into a tree.”

“Chief George Ayers expressed sympathy for Morrow's family at a press conference this morning.”

Ayers appeared, standing at a Plexiglas podium bearing the department's shield. A piece of black ribbon slashed across his gold badge in the traditional symbol of mourning for an officer's death. “Officer Morrow was a fine cop, and his loss will be keenly felt by all of us with the…”

“Shit,” Faith breathed as the sick realization rolled over her. “The bastards murdered him!” In the kitchen, the door creaked open. Jim's deep voice called, “Faith?”

She didn't look away from the television, both elbows planted on her knees as she leaned toward the screen. “Jim, they killed Morrow.”

“What?” He walked into the living room, carrying a couple of plastic bags. His thick brows lowered with his frown.

“Morrow.” She nodded at the screen, where the officer's picture had replaced Ayers. “They're saying he died in a one-car accident last night. Like hell.”

Jim moved closer to the small set for a better look at the photo. “Isn't he the one who didn't want to hand you over to the vampire?”

“Exactly.” She sat back on the couch. “And they killed him for it. But I don't understand why the coroner is going along with this. I'll bet money an autopsy would show Morrow was dead before that car hit the tree.”

Jim walked over and handed her the bags. “Knowing the way this bunch operates, Celestine put a spell on the coroner. No autopsy will ever be done.”

“And if the Highway Patrol's accident reconstruction team raises any red flags, she'll shut them up, too.” Faith shook her head. “Poor bastard.”

“Don't waste your pity,” Jim told her. “Judging from the conversation the other night, he had some choice about going along with this mess. If he didn't, why bother to kill him?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking about that.” Brooding, she absently reached into the bags and started pulling out the clothes Jim had bought for her. “But he had a wife and two little kids, too. They're completely innocent, and now their lives have been destroyed.”

“If he had kids, he sure as hell should have stayed out of it.”

Faith shrugged. “Maybe he didn't think there was a choice. Even aside from Celestine's spell, when the whole department went bad, fighting them could have gotten him killed.”

Jim lifted a dark brow. “Hasn't stopped you.”

“I've always been bullheaded.” She pulled the last of his purchases from the bag. “Thanks for all this, by the way. I'll pay you back after I hit the bank for cash.”

Jim had outfitted her from the skin out—underwear, jeans, knit shirts, even socks and a pair of running shoes. Picking up one of the shirts, she looked it over. It was a pretty peach that would compliment her hair color perfectly. Glancing at the rest of the selection, she saw a rainbow of shades, without one screaming red in the bunch. “You know, you've got good taste.”

He grinned. “You sound surprised.”

“Hey, sometimes even I buy stuff that clashes with my hair. If I'm not careful, I end up looking like Ronald Mc-Donald.”

“I seriously doubt that. Besides, I'm an artist—color is my job.”

“When you're not hunting witches or eating bad guys.” She sobered, thinking once again of Morrow. “I wonder how they really killed him.”

“I doubt we'll ever know.” His gaze sympathetic, he slapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Why don't you get dressed and we'll go work off a little stress.”

She managed a flirtatious grin. “Why, whatever do you have in mind?”

“Werewolf combat training.”

Faith gazed at him a beat. “Somehow that was not the answer I had in mind.”

Half an hour
later, they zipped down the road in Jim's black Jag. They were far enough away from town that he'd decided it was safe to put the top down, and the wind whipped Faith's hair into a red froth. She tilted her head back, enjoying the sunlight on her face. “Why am I not surprised you own a convertible?”

He flashed her a white grin. “Let me guess—this is the setup for a joke about Rambo's love of hanging his head out car windows.”

“First, sane people do not talk about themselves in the third person. And second…pbbbbbbbtttt!” She blew a loud, very juicy raspberry.

“I can't help it if you're predictable—and ever so slightly juvenile.”

“Says the man I once caught licking his own balls.”

“Hey, that was the closest I got to action all month.”

Faith lifted her head to stare at him in mingled amusement and horror. “I was joking! You didn't really…?” Jim gave her a bland, slow blink. She snorted in disgust, realizing she'd been had. “Dog.”

“Woof.”

She settled back into the soft leather seat to watch trees whip by, sunlight lancing through the limbs in golden streamers. “So what's the point of today's little exercise?”

He shrugged, one big hand resting lightly on the steering wheel. “You need to learn how to manage your new strength in a fight. If you'd hit one of those cops in werewolf form the way you'd have hit him when you were human, you'd have taken his head off.”

Faith winced, picturing the results. “That would have been bad.”

“Not to mention really messy. Plus, you need to learn how to control the bite so you don't accidently turn some asshole into a werewolf.”

“That, too, would be bad.”

“Particularly for the asshole, since I'd have to kill him.”

She started to laugh, then cut it off as his cold tone registered. “You're serious.”

“We can't afford to give this kind of power to just anybody. It's too easy to misuse.”

“I'd like to argue that, but after watching Reynolds at work…” She broke off and frowned as a new and unpleasant idea occurred to her. “Do I want to ask you what you'd have done if you felt
I
wasn't worthy?”

His mouth quirked up at the corner in a grim half-smile. “You are worthy, Faith.”

She lifted a brow, not reassured. “Which is evidently a damn good thing for me.”

 

Five minutes later
they reached their destination, parked the car under a stand of trees, and strolled into the woods together. It was a pretty day under a cloudless sky, cooled by a breeze scented with spring flowers and pine.

They stopped in a clearing beside a creek. Water chuckled over stones, and a squirrel rustled through the leaves of the oak towering overhead. Perched on another limb, a bird poured out a liquid plea for love in a series of bright, high notes.

Jim glanced around them with satisfaction. “We should be far enough out. Nearest house is two miles away, neighborhood kids are in school. Good a place as any to Change.”

“If you say so.” Faith closed her eyes and opened herself to the power of the Mageverse. It surged through her in a long warm rush, and she caught her breath as it began to reshape her body. It hurt less this time, though the furious itch of growing fur was no better.

The bottom seemed to drop out of her stomach as she shot upward to her full Dire Wolf height. When she opened her eyes, she found Jim big and dark and feral, his silver eyes bright against his black fur. For such a thoroughly magical creature, he looked at home under the pines and oaks, a wolf in its natural habitat.

“Now,” he said, “I teach you to fight.”

Faith braced furry fists on her hips and eyed him. “Jim, I have four brothers. I learned how to fight before I hit puberty.”

“You know how to fight as a human. A Dire Wolf is not just a really big guy.” He waggled his clawed hands in a bring-it-on gesture. “Hit me.”

She hesitated a moment, frowning. “How hard?”

“Hard.”

“Jim, I don't know how strong I am. I don't know how much force to use.”

He gave her an infuriating little smile. “Don't worry about it. Hit me.”

The patronizing glint in his eye pissed her off. Faith threw the punch the way she'd been taught, straight at his head, driving her full body weight behind it.

A big hand snapped around her wrist, stopping her fist well before it struck the target. “Never punch a Dire Wolf in the face,” Jim told her. “A human's face is just target, but a Dire Wolf's head houses his primary weapons.” Opening his jaws, he caught her hand gently between his teeth.

“Hey!” Startled, she jerked back.

He let her go. “If I bit down, I could crush every bone in your hand and cripple you.”

Faith frowned, considering the problem. “But wouldn't it heal when I shifted?”

Jim shrugged those impressive shoulders. “Yeah—when you shifted. Until then, you've got crippling pain and no use of that hand. And what are you going to change into?”

“Good point.” She paused, thinking it through. “If I go human…”

“You're lunch if you don't shift back before I get you. Wolf is better, but you'd have no hands and not much in the way of claws. Again, if I get you, I eat you. Or, if I hurt you bad enough in enough forms, I can make you shift so fast, your own magic will destroy you.”

“Ouch.” Faith bit her lip absently. “What about a roundhouse?” She swung out in a slow-motion punch, coming at his head from the side.

He nodded, automatically blocking with a powerful forearm. “That's better. In fact, if you're not in a fight to the death, that's pretty well the way you want to do it. But you've got to be careful. In Dire Wolf form, you can put your fist through a car door, much less somebody's skull.”

She rocked back on her heels and propped her hands on her hips as she studied him. “Okay, so how do you fight when you
are
in a fight to the death?”

“That pretty much depends on the form. As a wolf or dog, the teeth are our primary weapons. The claws, not so much. But Dire Wolves fight more like bears or big cats.” Opening his hand, he mimed a swat with one hand.

Faith smiled dryly. “Basically, what my brothers called fighting like a girl.”

“Your brothers never saw somebody get half his face ripped off by a Dire Wolf.” He extended his claws. They looked like curving three-inch knifepoints protruding from his furry fingertips.

She grimaced. “You know, it occurs to me this could get really ugly.”

“In a heartbeat. It's a good thing that idiot Reynolds didn't know how to fight as a Dire Wolf.” He flexed his claws and smiled grimly. “I'd have cleaned his clock if I hadn't had to keep one eye on you. Next time, though…”

“I'll be in the mix.” She bared her teeth. “So show me what to do.”

With claws retracted, he demonstrated the ins and outs of Dire Wolf combat. They spent the next hour practicing, grappling, and exchanging blows, with frequent pauses as he stopped to explain or critique.

And as each minute passed, Faith found herself more and more aware of him.

When he held her during their struggle, her body rose to his, nipples tingling, heat building between her thighs. She could smell the salty musk of her arousal.

Which meant he could, too.

That, perversely, turned her on even more.

Feeling something hard press against her belly as they struggled, she looked down. His dark, heavy length lay against her red-furred belly.

Suddenly the profound strangeness of the whole thing hit her, and she rolled away from him, throwing her hands in the air. “Okay, I'm done.”

Leaning on one elbow in the leaves, dark and graceful as a panther—and just as unselfconscious—Jim raised a brow. “Well, you are in your Burning Moon.”

“I know that. And it's one thing when we're in human form. But…” She shrugged and looked away, struggling with the blend of arousal and discomfort she felt.

He rolled over on his back and arched his spine. His cock described a long, dark arch of its own over the shining black fur of his belly. “Feeling a little too animal, sweetheart?” Lazily, he wrapped one big hand around the shaft and slowly stroked.

Faith realized she was staring and forced her gaze away. “Don't do that.”

“Why?” He cupped his heavy balls. “It's just as much me in this form as it is when I'm human.” His silver eyes shuttered. “And it's just as much you, too.”

“Maybe, but it doesn't feel like it.” She glowered as a new thought struck her. “And for the record, I don't care who Rambo is, I ain't doing him.”

He shouted in laughter and released himself. “Darling, I wouldn't even dream of suggesting it.” Magic swirled up from his eyes, and his body shifted and shrank. The next moment, he was human again, reclining in the leaves in his jeans and black T-shirt. He sprang to his feet, lithe as a gymnast. “Change to human form. I need to give you that lesson in bite control.”

Faith lifted a brow. “As a human?”

“Well, I sure as hell don't want you biting me with
those
teeth.”

“Good point.”

As she prepared to Change, she tried to ignore the little voice that murmured she'd be happy to bite him in any form at all.

Once she was human again, they squared off. “The bite is a spell,” Jim told her. “When you bite someone, your power is going to want to rise. Your job is to control it. It's basically calling the magic in reverse.”

He moved around behind her and caught her in his arms, forearm pressing lightly against her neck. “Now, try to bite me.”

“In this position, the logical move is a throw,” Faith pointed out, grabbing his wrist as she got ready to flip him over her shoulder.

“Yeah, but we ain't practicing throws. We're practicing bites. Bite me.” Deliberately, he tightened his arm against her throat.

She sighed, opened her mouth, and closed her teeth lightly on his muscled forearm. He tasted of salt and clean male skin—and just a hint of magic.

“That's not going to work, Faith.” His breath blew lightly against her ear. “The magic isn't even going to try to rise if that's all you're doing. You've got to put a little more into it.”

Frustrated, she threw a look over her shoulder at him. “Put a little more
what
into it? You mean chomp down? Or what?”

“It's not the force, it's the emotion.” He tightened his hold on her hip, dragging her back.

Her eyes widened. If his erection had softened, it was back now. She could feel its thick bulk even through their jeans. “You're having a little too much fun back there, hoss.”

“Not yet.” He rolled his hips until the shaft stroked the length of her backside. “But I'm giving it serious thought.”

She grinned. “Bad dog.”

“Every chance I get,” he breathed in her ear. The arm around her throat shifted until he could close long fingers around her breast. Slowly, teasingly, he squeezed.

Her nipple peaked against his palm. She licked her lips. “I thought we were practicing.”

“We are practicing.” He brushed his palm across the hard nubbin until it tightened even more.

“Practicing what?” His left hand left her hip to stroke down her belly. Two strong fingers slid between her thighs, brushing teasingly along the seam of her jeans. “Driving me nuts?”

He laughed against her ear, a low masculine rumble. “Yeah. How am I doing?”

She caught her breath. He'd found her clit. “Pretty good.”

“Good.” Ruthlessly, gently, he tormented nipple and sex through her clothing. Faith's panties dampened as her body heated under his skillful touch.

His fingers traced up her zipper, caught the tab, drew it down. Traced up again, over the silk and lace, drawing a line of heat up her belly. She gasped. “Jim!”

“Mmm?” He sounded lazily amused as he ran his thumb along the elastic band of her underwear, slowly, as if considering dipping inside.

“Are we still practicing?” Her libido was definitely growling now.

“Practicing what?” His hand slid down her waistband. His palm felt deliciously warm. “Faith?” he prompted. “Practicing what?”

One finger stroked between her damp lips. “Practicing…Oh!…biting.”

His fingertip circled her clit, almost touching it, but not quite. “Yes.”

Pleasure spooled up her body in long, slick ribbons. “So we're not having sex?”

“Nope.” The finger dipped into her slick core, then retreated again.

“Ummm. Feels like we're having sex.”

He tugged her nipple through the fabric of her bra. “But we're not.”

His cock felt like a steel rod against her ass. It was getting really difficult to concentrate. She licked her dry lips. “So what are we doing again?”

He raked her clit with a teasing thumbnail. “Pissing you off.” He jerked his hand from her shorts.

As she gasped in outrage, he presented his forearm to her teeth. “Bite.”

Frustrated—he was teasing her!—Faith sank her teeth into the tangy masculine flesh. She felt the magic boil up, surging out of the Mageverse. Belatedly, she remembered the idea was to block it and tried to force it back down again. It refused to obey, surging through her jaws and into the impressions left by her teeth.

She opened her jaws and studied the bite in dismay. “Shit. If you'd been human…”

“You'd have infected me.” Jim released the breast he'd been toying with, grabbed her T-shirt, and whipped it off over her head. Before she could squawk a protest, he attacked her bra. A moment later, he dropped it on top of the shirt.

“So you're just going to torture me until I get it right?” she demanded.

“Basically.” He nuzzled her ear and gave it a taunting nibble.