Master of Wolves (18 page)

His body was huge, covered in black and gray fur.

Staring wildly around, he realized he was surrounded by werewolves—two blondes he thought were Tim and Dave, a couple of heavyset ones that might be Young and Taylor, a red-furred one that had to be Granger. And Reynolds, who stood staring at the spot where Doris had disappeared. “Huh,” the werewolf said. “Wonder what the fuck happened to her?”

 

“We need to
talk,” Jim said.

In the middle of fixing sandwiches for them both, Faith looked around. Her heart sank at the expression of determination on his handsome face. Something told her this wasn't a conversation she was going to enjoy.

She hid her alarm and turned to put the sandwiches on two plates with chips and pickle spears. “About what?”

He got a couple of beers out of the fridge. “Us.”

Oh, great. Just great. “You want to have sex again?” She carried the sandwiches to the table.

A grin flashed across that handsome face. “Yeah, actually. But first I want to talk.”

“So, talk.” Faith sat, watching as he did the same.

“There's this werewolf thing.” He picked up his BLT and took a healthy bite.

Her lips twitched. “Another one?” She crunched into her sandwich, the wolf in her growling in approval at the taste of the crispy meat.

“'Fraid so. But this one could actually work to our advantage. And right now, we need all the advantages we can get.”

“Granted.” She picked up her beer, took a sip. “What kind of ‘werewolf thing' are we talking about here?”

He hesitated. “It's a little complicated.”

“Jim, it's been my experience that all werewolf things are complicated.” She licked mayo off her lips and tried to ignore the heated glance he gave her mouth.

“Good point.” He went silent and applied himself to his sandwich, obviously working up to whatever he was about to say. Oh, peachy. Anything that required that much buildup was probably bad news.

“My people have something called the Spirit Link,” Jim announced after several meditative bites. “It's a bond couples can form—another one of those magical gifts Merlin gave us. Magekind couples have the Truebond, which lets them read each other's thoughts, but ours is more spiritual and less invasive.”

“Couples?”
As in married couples?
She put her beer down with a thump. “Jim….”

He just charged right over her interruption as if reluctant to give her an opening. “We don't read each other's minds like Truebonded Magekind.

“A Spirit Linked couple senses each other's emotions and intentions—you just instinctively know what your partner is going to do.”

Curious despite herself, Faith asked, “Just how do you go about forming one of these things?”

He shrugged. “As I understand it, you just kind of transform together, calling your power while touching. Then you just sort of…blend your magic, and the Link forms. People have been known to Spirit Link during combat.” Jim gave her a grim smile. “It's supposed to come in handy.”

“Yeah,” she drawled, “I can see where it would.”

Jim cleared his throat and put down his sandwich. He actually looked more nervous than he had when he'd told her about the bite. Then he'd been afraid for her, but now he was visibly worried about her reaction. “It carries physical advantage in a fight, too. You basically blend your magic during the moment you transform, and it strengthens you both. You don't have to worry about losing control of the magic, either. My dad says you steady each other—”

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

To her amazement, he actually blushed. Then he tilted up that strong chin and gave her a defiant look. “Yeah.”

Ron had proposed on one knee, flipping open a little velvet box that had probably cost him two months' salary. Of course, it had meant exactly nothing, so the cost of the ring scarcely mattered.

“You can't be serious,” Faith told him with a growing sense of panic, pushing her sandwich aside. “We've known each other less than a week. You can't just—”

“I'm in love with you.”

The bald words took her breath. She stared at him for a helpless moment before she managed to speak. “The Burning Moon.”

His steady, demanding gaze didn't even shift. “I started falling for you the first time I saw you.”

“At Johnson's Kennel? Jim, you were a dog.”

“No matter how many legs I happen to have, I'm always a man.” He sighed as she stood and started clearing off the table. “Look, I know it's a big step. Dire Wolves mate for life. And when one member of a Spirit Linked couple dies, the other usually follows soon after.”

“Well, now that's comforting!”

“I realize you need to think about this.”

With an effort, she softened her tone. “Actually, I'm pretty sure I don't.”

His silver gaze bored into hers. “Then consider this. You would never have to wonder if I was deceiving you. Even if I was the kind of bastard Ron was, you'd know my emotions. You'd feel what I feel.”

“Jim, that's what I'm afraid of.”

 

The werewolves howled
as Sergeant Randy Young swaggered up to a pine tree, wrapped his furry arms around it, and heaved. Wood groaned as if the pine were protesting. Roots popped and cracked. With a triumphant roar, Young ripped the tree out of the ground and let it fall with a thunderous crash.

The heavyset were laughed, his jaws gapping as the others clapped their big clawed hands. As Reynolds had expected, they had begun to see the possibilities in being werewolves.

Immortality would be nice, but being Supermen didn't exactly suck either.

“All this,” Reynolds called over their shouts, “and you can still enjoy a good steak—without bursting into flames when the sun comes up.”

Frank's laughter cut off. Reynolds concealed his rising tension. He'd expected problems from that one—Frank was a hothead.

Ayers's calculating stare was no surprise, either. The chief was looking for a weakness. Reynolds had to make sure he didn't find any.

“That's all well and good.” Frank stalked across the ruins toward him. He stopped muzzle to muzzle with Reynolds and peeled his lips back from his fangs. “But you didn't fucking ask. You just jumped us!”

Reynolds smiled faintly, coldly.

Then he popped his claws and punched them right into Frank's gut. The werewolf bent double with a strangled cry of agony and collapsed in a heap.

“Jesus!” Taylor gasped.

Coolly, Reynolds knelt and rolled Frank over on his back. Panting, the were looked down in horror at the deep, bleeding rips in his belly. “What's wrong with you, you fucking psycho!”

“What did you expect, dumbass? You challenged me.” Reynolds gave him a deliberately chilling smile. “I figure you're gonna bleed out in half an hour tops.”

Frank stared up at him in shock. “You bastard!”

“The good news is, if you Change right now, you'll survive.” He grinned. “Oh, wait—you don't know how, do you?”

The werewolf threw back his head and whined in pain. “Shit, Keith. What the fuck do you want?”

Reynolds bared his teeth. “Obedience.” He looked up at the horrified weres standing around them. “From now on, I'm in charge.”

“Yeah. Whatever, man. How do I Change?”

Point made, Reynolds told him.

 

Jim had offered
Faith his very soul, and she'd kicked him in the teeth.

Anger buzzed through him like a high voltage electric line, snarling and popping. Almost steaming with it, he channel surfed on the ancient TV, but there was nothing on except crap. Stupid crap. Depressing crap.

He hit an image of Bogart in a tux, brooding over a glass of whiskey. “Of all the gin joints in all the world…”

“Sap,” he snarled at the screen, and changed the channel.

“Want a beer?” Faith called from the kitchen doorway, looking guilty.

“No.” The growl sounded distinctly basso. It occurred to him he was a little too close to Changing, but he didn't give a shit.

Something jangled cheerfully from his pants pocket. He knew from the ring it was the encrypted cell Charlie had given him.

Great. Just great. He dug it out of his pocket. “London.”

“Why the hell haven't you reported in? I was starting to wonder if the fucking rogue had eaten you.”

Charlie sounded almost as foul tempered as he felt. Perfect. “That pussy? Not likely.”

“Is he dead?”

“Almost got him today. Had him on the ropes, but he rabbited.”

“Why the hell did you let him do that? You should have chased him.”

“I did. Got hit by a car.”

Charlie started cursing with considerable verve and vulgarity. “Screw it. I'm sending Jennings.”

“Dammit, I said I'd take care of him!”

“Then do it! Or are you waiting for him to die of old age?” The phone went dead.

“Asshole.” Jim stuffed it in his pocket and looked up to find Faith watching him warily. “I'm tired of fucking around with Reynolds. Any ideas how we can find him?”

“I don't…” She broke off, frowning. “I seem to recall that he likes to get a beer and a sandwich at the Silver Bullet.”

“The bar where Tony got into that brawl?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “The owner lets cops eat free. And there's a woman he sees there—Sheri Miller. Waitress, about five-six, blond.” She held her hands out in front of her, cupping large, imaginary tits. “Gets very big tips.”

Jim indulged in a cynical snort. “And he loves her for her mind. Sounds like just the woman I need to talk to.” He got up and headed for the door.

“Wait a minute—I'm not going to the Bullet in shorts.” Faith made for the stairs, obviously intending to change.

He didn't break step. “You're not going at all. They know you there, remember?”

“Now, wait just one minute!” Hurrying after him, she caught him by one shoulder and turned him around. There was outrage and worry in her eyes. He felt just petty enough to enjoy it. “You're not going after him alone.”

“Aren't I? I'm the Alpha, Faith. I'm more than capable of handling him with no assistance whatsoever.”

“I don't care.” She folded her arms and glowered at him. “There's no way in hell I'm letting you go against Reynolds without backup. Any rookie cop would know better.”

“I'm your Wolfmaster, Faith. You don't ‘let' me do anything.” He stalked out the front door and slammed it behind him, then bounded down the porch steps. He didn't look around when he heard the door open, instead striding toward the convertible.

As he vaulted over the driver's door, a flash of red leaped into the opposite seat.

Faith, in Irish setter form, curled a defiant lip.

“If you shed on those seats, you're vacuuming it up.” He started the car with a violent twist of his wrist.

Korbal stood in
the hallway, staring down at the mangled bodies of the grail guards. They looked as if they'd been ripped apart by wild animals.

A sensation of sick dread spread over him, not for the guards' deaths—the incompetent bastards had failed him—but for what he knew he'd find inside the grail chamber.

It was the end of everything.

Mechanically, he stepped over the bodies of his men and looked through the chamber's open double doors. As he'd known it would be, the grail was gone.

His knees went weak, and he sagged against the doorframe.

The battle for the grail had broken off at dawn. Korbal and his men had fought the Magekind to the last possible second, until the sun weighed on him like a lead coat as its radiation ate into his magic.

At last Arthur and his men had fled. Even their witches had gone with them just before the sunlight rendered them all powerless. With bare seconds to spare, Korbal had conjured a lair behind the nearest wall and transported himself into it.

But the battle had been only a distraction. While Arthur's men kept him busy, Arthur's pet monster had taken the grail and killed his men.

The last time the creature had attacked, five of his best guards had gated after it. They'd never returned, and his attempts to follow their magical trail had been blocked by their killer.

Two had survived, only because they'd stayed behind to watch the grail. They had described an assault by a wolflike monster who had appeared out of thin air to slaughter two men before gating away.

Whatever it was, the creature had not been one of Geirolf's creations. Its lingering scent trail smelled of the Mageverse, not the demon's dark magic. Logically, it had to be one of Arthur's.

Korbal had no doubt the creature had been responsible for the theft of the grail. The same overwhelming scent of wolf and Mageverse filled the corridor, mixing with the blood reek from his murdered men.

The only question was, why weren't Korbal and all his people dead? The Magekind should have destroyed the grail the moment they had it in their possession. Why were they holding off?

A gasp of horror drew his attention. Glancing over his shoulder, he met the eyes of the female vampire who stood in the corridor.

“The grail?” she asked, her voice high with fear.

“Gone.” He lifted one hand in a complicated gesture, sending out a spell to the minds of his people. “Arm and armor yourselves. We meet in the Sanctuary.”

 

The wind whipped
Faith's long ears and combed cool fingers through her Irish setter fur, but she was too focused on Jim to pay it much attention.

Just like a man, she told herself. He hadn't gotten his way, and now he was acting all pissy.

Except she kept seeing that flash of hurt in those pale eyes when she'd turned him down. That wasn't just wounded ego.

Oh, some of it was, she decided, watching a fine muscle flex in his handsome jaw. And she really couldn't blame him. After all, Jim had asked her to share something more intimate than marriage, and she'd blown him off.

Brooding, she rested her chin on the window and watched the night zoom by.

Jim had offered to Link himself to her so thoroughly, he wouldn't survive her death. If any other man had made an offer like that, she'd think he was nuts.

But Jim meant it. He'd decided it was the right thing to do, and he seemed to feel no doubt at all.

Then again, he rarely seemed to doubt himself. He just determined what to do and did it, no second thoughts. No wavering. Which was fine as long as he was right, but what if he was wrong?

Faith lifted her head and turned to watch his big hands on the wheel as he took a curve with easy skill. He was so damned good, she felt no hesitancy about putting her life into his hands. He was one of those rare leaders she'd follow through any door he cared to kick down.

But love was different. As much as she hated to admit it, she'd loved Ron with a blind, hot passion. Just the way he looked at her in those first days made her feel good about herself. For a woman who'd always felt too tall and just slightly too masculine, there'd been something highly seductive about feeling so feminine.

Come to think of it, she wasn't sure which she'd really loved—Ron or the way he made her feel.

Either way, it hadn't lasted. Ron had the attention span of an amorous hamster, and soon he was off to other conquests. Subconsciously, she'd felt him slipping away even before she'd known it for sure.

Of course, Jim was a lot more man than Ron had ever been, in virtually every way. Maybe that was what scared her. Nobody could have held Ron for long—that was just the way he was wired. But Jim…If she lost Jim, that would say something about her, wouldn't it? Something she really didn't want to know.

So okay, she'd been really clumsy in her refusal. He'd caught her off guard. But that didn't mean she'd been wrong.

The thing to do was keep it light and professional, Faith decided. Gently make it clear to him that she wasn't interested in anything more permanent than a little passion and catching bad guys—without stomping his ego. She could do that.

How hard could it be?

 

Korbal looked out
over the angry, fearful faces of his congregation. “Arthur's monster has taken the grail. We must go to Avalon and recover it, or we die.”

The group burst into appalled shouts.

“Avalon?” one bellowed over the din. “You want us to follow Arthur to his very stronghold? Are you insane?”

“What other choice do we have?” Korbal demanded coldly. “They have obviously not yet destroyed the grail—we'd all be dead if they had. As long as we live, there is some chance we can track and recover it.”

“You don't know they took it to Avalon. You don't know they took it at all!”

“Don't be more stupid than you can help,” Korbal snarled. “They attacked us. While we were distracted, a creature that smelled of the Mageverse took our grail. Do you think this is coincidence?”

“But—Avalon!” a female vampire whined. “Even Geirolf himself did not dare attack Arthur's capital!”

“I assure you, he'd have attacked it if he'd faced what we do—immediate destruction if we don't.” Korbal's hands curled into fists as he considered incinerating the twit where she stood. Unfortunately, they needed every fighter they had, even fools. “Would you rather stand here dithering while they destroy the grail and wipe us all out? Or would you rather fight and seize the chance to survive?”

“It's not much of a chance,” another woman said dryly.

“It's better than nothing!” This was a man, lifting his voice in a shout. “Korbal is right. I'd rather die fighting than wringing my hands. But we've got to move now!”

The crowd went silent, and Korbal saw his chance to seize control again. “Unit leaders, start generating your gates. We march on Avalon!” He raised his voice in his congregation's battle cry. “Geirolf lives in us!”

“We live in Geirolf!” they shouted back. Korbal hid his relief.

He had them again.

 

The Silver Bullet
was a long, low white cinder block building with flashing neon signs hanging in the windows. Across one side, a bad mural depicted a cowboy riding a bucking bronco in chalky, gaudy florescent paint. It was lit by three floodlights, one of which was either broken or had burned out. Knowing the Bullet's clientele, it was probably busted.

In the patch of darkness left by the absent spot, a woman stood smoking a cigarette. From past experience, Faith knew Sheri Miller got off shift about this time. She'd said once that she liked to have a smoke to steady her nerves after a night spent dealing with amorous drunks.

Sheri was a pretty woman, so petite and generously curved Faith always felt like an Amazon standing beside her. She and Reynolds had gone together hot and heavy for most of the year Faith had been in Clarkston. He was nowhere to be seen now, though.

Faith waited for Jim to park the convertible, then hopped over the door and trotted across the parking lot. Sheri loved dogs; she'd never failed to give Rambo a pat. With any luck, she'd react the same way to Faith's Irish setter, giving Jim a conversation opener.

“Oh, aren't you the gorgeous thing!” As she'd hoped, Sheri tossed aside her cigarette and dropped to her knees to give the dog a good ear rub. “You're beautiful! Yes, you are!”

Faith froze, feeling a little uncomfortable as the woman stroked her ears and rubbed her head. It felt…surprisingly good, if deeply weird.

“Better watch out,” Jim said, strolling up. “She's a heartbreaker.”

Sheri looked up with a moment's wariness at the strange male voice, then blinked as she registered Jim's stunning looks. A hint of calculation entered her smile. “She yours?”

“Or I'm hers. We're still working that part out.” He gave Sheri that lazily seductive grin of his.

She rose to her feet with one more absent pat for Faith and offered Jim her hand. “Sheri Miller.”

“Jim Galloway.” The last being a cover identity. He turned to look out across the parking lot, where the moon was just beginning to rise. “Pretty night.”

“Yeah. Better enjoy it now—it'll be hotter than blazes in a couple of weeks.” She studied him with dazzled eyes, scanning from his handsome face to broad shoulders and down his narrow hips. “You're not from around here.” Her tone said she'd have noticed him by now if he had been.

“Nope. New in town.” He leaned a shoulder against the wall, his torso bending in an easy masculine curve. “I don't know a single soul.”

Sheri took the opening and ran with it, giving him an eager smile. “You know me.”

“I'd certainly like to.” He hooded those seductive eyes and purred, “But a pretty girl like you probably has a boyfriend.”

The laughter vanished from her face. “I did, but not anymore. He dumped me for this witch.” She tossed her blond hair. “Probably just as well, considering some of the shit they're into.” Despite the defiant tone, there was pain in her blue eyes.

“Drugs?”

“Nah, he's a cop. That's what makes it so bad.” She forced a flirtatious smile. “But you wouldn't be interested in that.”

“Actually, I am.” He crossed one muscular ankle over the other, the picture of indolent power. “I'm a reporter for the
Atlanta Mirror
. I'm here looking into Tony Shay's death.”

Faith's head whipped up, but fortunately Sheri didn't seem to notice.

“A reporter?” The waitress looked uneasy. “Shay—that's the guy they found dead behind the Bullet.”

“The cops say some of your customers did it. But the paper here said it was Satanists. What do you think?”

“Look, I don't want to talk about any of that. I need to get home.” She turned to walk off.

“I won't use your name.” He reached out and touched her shoulder, a light graze of the fingers that stopped her in her tracks. Uncertain, Sheri looked back at him, and he gave her that warm, seductive smile again. “I just want to talk to you. You know Keith Reynolds, and you know he's involved in this up to his neck.”

A car pulled into the parking lot, tires crunching on the gravel. Sheri's head whipped toward it. Nervously, she licked her lips. “I don't want to be seen talking to no reporter.”

“We can go somewhere else. Your place. Or we can get a cup of coffee.”

She shifted from foot to sneakered foot, trying to make up her mind. “You got ID?”

Shit,
Faith thought.
That blows that.

“Sure.” He straightened away from the wall and started toward the Jag, the two of them at his heals. Faith noticed Sheri's gaze dropping to his backside and lingering. Apparently Faith wasn't the only one who thought Jim had an outstanding ass.

They reached the car and waited while Jim slid in and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a laminated card on a neck chain.

Where had he acquired
that
?

He handed the card to Sheri, who looked it over and handed it back. She hesitated a moment. “I guess we can go to my house.”

Jim nodded. “Sounds good. Want to take my car?”

She looked back at the Bullet's door nervously. “No. I'll take my own.”

“Great. I'll follow you.”

A moment later, they were driving through Clarkston, following the taillights of Sheri's battered Toyota.

Faith sat in the front, her head buzzing with a frustrating set of questions and no way to voice them in dog form. She didn't dare transform, either, because Sheri might look back and catch her.

“My cousin works at the
Atlanta Mirror
,” Jim said, apparently reading her mind, “He made me a set of credentials, just in case I needed them. And since reporters can ask all the nosy questions they want without raising any eyebrows…” He shrugged. “I'd considered using the reporter thing as my cover to begin with, but the chief knows me, so that was out.”

Up ahead, the Toyota's taillights took the turn into a trailer park. Jim followed, driving down the narrow road between the mobile homes. Most were single-wides, aging and dingy, surrounded by abandoned children's toys, battered cars, and bicycles lying on their sides. Lights glowed from narrow windows, as voices rose in shouts, arguments, and laughter.

Sheri stopped in front of a blue and white double-wide. After pulling in behind her, Jim and Faith followed her to the trailer's cinder block steps. As Sheri dug for her keys, a frantic, high-pitched barking sounded from inside the mobile home.

Sheri gave them an apologetic look. “That's Snowball, my poodle. Your dog won't go after her?”

Jim reached down to give Faith an infuriating pat on the head. “Red's too well-mannered to eat her hostess, aren't you, Red?”