Weremones (33 page)

Once assured his companion was all right, the pale wolf swiped a few affectionate swipes of his tongue across the smaller wolf’s jowl. He barked and ran into the woods behind the house. Behind him, the other wolf was a dark shadow.

As a wolf, Adam’s senses far outranked those of his human form. The information from the world around him was received and processed much more efficiently in his wolf form. His power was no less, but his senses were greater.

He picked up the scent trail he was looking for and followed it. The trail was as visible to his nose as the leaves on the ground, more so since the wolven were color blind.

Scents had a texture and flavor that no human understood. In his human form, Adam’s nose was far stronger than a human’s. But changing into his wolf form, even partially, it was like a shroud being pulled away from his face. Who needed color when the scent offered up so much more information? Like going from two dimensional, bypassing three dimensional, and going for ten dimensions.

Adam found the small clearing he was looking for and circled it, aware that his enemies could have laid a trap. He sniffed both the ground and the foliage above.

A resourceful supernatural trying to keep a wolven pack from taking an area might form an alliance with the local fairy population. A vampire or a witch would lay spells designed for maximum damage.

Wolven were more resistant to magic and psychic attacks, which often raised the question as to whether their precious psychics were another form of magic wielding supernaturals.

Adam didn’t know about much about werecoyotes. Until recently, he’d always assumed they were intelligent enough to stay out of the way of the more powerful supernaturals. He didn’t give them a lot of points in the smarts department. Yet, after all his years of watching Paul’s back, Adam erred on the side of caution.

Finally satisfied that he wasn’t about to be blasted into oblivion or set upon by a bunch of fleas in a fairy thrall Adam entered the clearing. He’d escaped that particularly nasty trick, but seen the flea thing done before.

Adam consequently had a deep respect for fairies, especially the little bitty winged ones.

He snuffled around inside the clearing, searching for more traps. You could never be too careful about fairies. All he found was a three quarter mushrooms circle, nothing to worry about. Finally, Adam sat down and wuffed the okay for Brandon to follow.

The smaller wolf trotted in. Brandon’s gaze searched the clearing before he dropped down beside his alpha with a canine sigh.

Adam sensed their arrival before he scented them. He wasn’t alarmed. Everything so far was going according to plan. He stopped panting, and waited, his attention on the direction they would enter.

As expected, two wolves slipped into the clearing. Perhaps not as overcautious as Adam, but they were still wary. The black led the way. Tank the wolf was dark as midnight on a moonless night. He respectfully touched noses with the alpha then sat, tall and dignified.

The second wolf, golden Chase trotted in with a hello wuff and flopped down beside Tank in a comfortable sprawl. His amber gaze roamed, alert, despite his lazy appearance.

Wolven enjoyed the best of three worlds. The superior form of the wolf form was ideal for travel, even better for recon missions. Their supernatural heritage gave them stupendous endurance and strength, and the bridge to connect both human and wolf forms.

The human base form gave wolven the ability to communicate complicated ideals that the wolf’s form could not. Supernatural gifts gave Adam an insight to the emotional and physical well being of the members of his pack, but for real communication he needed to change.

Adam started the change first, Tank next, and then Chase. The three dominant wolves changed alternately to protect the shifter while he was in the vulnerable first stages. Once the wolven achieved the wolf man form he was able to defend himself.

Brandon stayed in wolf form. The omega, the lowest ranking wolf in the pack, the kid also had the least reserves to draw on for the Change. The boy was strictly a follower.

During this planning stage he would save his energy to change later if needed.

Chase grinned, showing fangs. His eyes gleamed red in the darkness.

“We tracked the coyote to their night time lair. It’s a bar down by the railroad tracks outside of town called The Diamond Back.”

“I don’t know it.”

Adam’s knowledge of Palestine nighttime hotspots relied heavily on Mack’s periodic carousing adventures.

What he knew for certain could be found in the telephone book. He spent half his time on business and the other half at the school, juggling aggravated teachers and counselors.

He didn’t have time for a nightlife that didn’t include the boys.

Chase spared another trademark deadly wolven smile. Tank crossed his arms over his bare chest. A look of disgust twisted his dark autocratic features.

“It is a dung heap that reeks of were scent,” Tank sneered.

“Yeah, I might even spring for some flea dip.” The bite behind Chase’s words belied his light attitude.

And Mack thought
he
was elitist, Adam thought. He had nothing on these guys.

“Guards?” he asked.

“He’s got three coyotes doing bouncer duty,” Chase said. “Butt-sniffers, not muscle. By the way boss, I’d watch my tail. He’s got a few regulars, old trails, same scent, that overlap, and they’re not just werecoyote.

“I caught a whiff of cat, probably panther or mountain lion. Loners like that usually hit the were-bars for company every now and then. Most of the rest is covered up by the tobacco smoke. Don’t know how the bastards breathe in there.”

Tank picked up where Chase left off. Adam had noticed that his newest pack members did that a lot, loyalty and companionship that had been in place for years.

“The local government no doubt lost the battle to close the place down. We did not go in. An experience for which I am eternally grateful to have missed.

“In that place Benjamin Gates is alpha. We acquired our information via one of Gates’ human followers. According to our informant Gates’ will be the one
covered in chicks
. His wording, not mine.

“Yeah. The place is disgusting. Can’t say we’ve ever hit a worse dive. They’re begging for us to work the place over, the security is so bad.”

Adam was satisfied.

“Fine. Let’s run.”

The men changed, staggering the order as before for safety. They lit out in a dead run. The smaller dark brown wolf that was Brandon, kept up easily.

Chase darted for point, leading the way and keeping guard for his alpha. Adam, a cream-and-silver splash of light, dropped back to flank Brandon. Tank, shadowed their tails, making sure that no attacker fast or foolish enough attacked from behind.

Adam barked with the sheer joy of the run. He bumped the smaller wolf’s shoulder with his own. In this form he felt the closest connection with his pack, to the life force that connected all his kind. His will became their will.

He surged forward, outdistancing the gold wolf. His nose easily picked up the two wolves back trail. He was the leader of the pack.

Adam ran until he smelled were. An old path crossed theirs, smelling of cat. He growled low in throat.

The acrid stench of tobacco and the bitter sour smell of old alcohol filtered through the woods. Here and there the scent of sex teased his nostrils.

Adam thought he spied a used condom under a nearby bush, a paler shape against the forest floor, but he didn’t dare investigate. He could be right. Behind him, the small wolf sneezed.

The hunting party stopped at the edge of the forest and changed. This time Brandon changed, as well. The boy’s gaze focused on Adam, waiting for an order.

Adam eyeballed the building for himself. As a human, his vision was better. Some color gave the building definition, while the dingy dirty appearance of the place detracted.

Outside, the place was deserted. Discarded bottles and trash dotted the ground between the forest and the bar. He didn’t need the extra sensitivity of his ears to hear the loud twangy jukebox country music or the raucous noise from the bar’s customers.

“What we need is a distraction,” he mused aloud. “We clear out the building and someone as greedy as Gates will stay long enough to secure his valuables before leaving.”

Brandon’s voice was the least expected. “There’s a storage room on this side. It’s got paint and stuff for the werecoyotes’ picnics.”

“They have picnics?” Chase beat everyone else to the question. The utter amazement summed up all their shock.

“Well, yeah. Every moon-hunt they start out throwing meat on the grill. Goat, I think.”

The boy got another strange look. No one dared ask about barbequed goat.

“Actually, I hear goat’s pretty good if you cook it right.” Adam surprised the wolven with his comment. He shrugged. “I’ve got a worker, Jase Ramsey, who swears it beats beef hands down. He raises them, or something.”

Adam turned back to Brandon. He didn’t say aloud, but he didn’t like the idea of coyotes so socially organized. The ideal went against everything he’d been taught about weres. Not to have group picnics and formal hunts during the full moon. That implied pack unity. The hairs on his neck crawled at the thought.

“Does this group have any contact with outside coyote
groups?
” He couldn’t bear to say pack in conjunction with the coyotes.

Brandon shook his head and focused on the building instead of Adam. The pack leader thought the boy looked younger, more childlike than his sixteen years.

He was average height for his age and very lean. Not exactly starved, but the kid definitely didn’t have the bulk and muscle definition of his twin brother.

The look in the kid’s eyes was nothing innocent.

Of course, standing stark naked in the woods while planning to kill someone and toss the rest out of their homes probably wasn’t the best frame of mind to judge others standing there naked beside him planning the very same thing.

Adam still wanted to shove a few hamburgers down the kid. Like eight or ten.

He forced himself out of the ridiculous nurturing funk that had come over him and focused on what Brandon said, instead of the boy himself.

“What Chase and Tank said before, about them breeding out is true. They don’t mix with humans, even psychics. They think that anyone who can’t shift forms is inferior.” Brandon lost his train of thought. He caught a small, pained breath and finished.

“They don’t mix with other animals either. Just wolves, because we look alike.”

The three adults growled as one. Hackles rose. Three pairs of eyes narrowed.

“No,” Adam said. “We’re not alike. We are
wolven.
”

Adam gestured at the building.

“Show us what you’ve got. I’m right behind you.”

Brandon slunk off into the expanse behind the bar. His pale form, bare of covering, blended into the night with eerie grace and stealth.

He picked through broken glass, sharp rocks, and patchy weeds. The petroleum scents of gasoline and paint thinner led the way, though there were enough motorcycles and beat up vehicles in the parking lot to account for the gasoline scent. Especially, if some idiot had spilled a can of it nearby.

Somewhere close, a part of Adam’s brain noted, was a female in heat. A were female. It was a morbid kind of interest that he dismissed quickly.

Brandon went directly to the recessed shadow of a locked door where the twin odors of gas and paint supplies were strongest. He also sifted other scents, charcoal.

Strangely, the same brand his dad, Will, had used when Adam was growing up, before he knew what he was. The sour smell of old beer. The metallic tang of metal rusting in water.

He scented traces of the blood and the death of a creature, not goat. They were old scents that could never be covered up. Gates had probably used his storage room to store more than just his barbeque stuff and paint supplies.

The lock was a joke. A padlock attached to a hasp nailed to the door and frame.

The whole assembly came off in Adam’s hand with a quick twist. Adam tossed the trash around Brandon into the dark room beyond.

He pushed the boy behind him and ducked inside. The scents enveloped him, telling their stories. Adam scanned the room with his eyes, finishing up the picture his nose painted for him.

Adam reached for his hip pocket and encountered the skin of his hipbone. He remembered why he always thought missions like this were a pain in the butt. Unless you were a kangaroo or an opossum, naked meant no pockets.

He found what he was looking for. A box of painting rags that should have been discarded.

Heavy fumes from the evaporated thinner came from the bucket. The same halfassed cleaning job had been applied to the cheap plastic roller trays stacked together. He would have a fit if any of his men treated tools like that.

Adam caught the scent of what he wanted. He followed the barest bit of sulfur to the source above the barbeque grill. He found the box of matches between the lighter fluid and the not quite closed zip bag of mesquite chips.

He picked his way back to the door to check on Brandon and his newly appointed wardens.

Chase gave him a thumbs-up sign, while Tank kept scanning his corner of the building for trouble. Brandon stood silently by the storeroom door, watching Adam’s every move.

“Go wait in the woods,” he told the boy.

Adam pulled out a match. He closed his eyes against the sudden flare and stroked the match against the side, tossing the fire into the rags. He lit two more and tossed them before dropping the matches between the cans of thinner and the bucket of half cleaned brushes and rollers.

Maybe it would look accidental, but more than likely no one would care to investigate the fire very far. The place was a dump and a gathering place for degenerates.

He ducked out of the room and ran for the woods. Behind him, the fire caught quickly. Adam spared a bit of concern for the trees should the fire get out of hand. There
were
a lot of flammables in that room. And the place
was
a bar. Liquor was flammable, too.