Werewolf Me (13 page)

“Why?” It was odd of Murphy to reject any advance she made.

“Just watch and don’t be frightened.”

A few minutes later when she was fully conscious, Truro opened her eyes and realized two things. One, she had fainted and she never fainted, and two, she had a spiky twig sticking into her butt. “What the—” Truro scrambled to her knees. “Why am I naked? In the bush?” She brushed the twigs and grass from her body as she tried to remember what had happened. And then it hit her. Truro slapped her forehead. “I must have been sleepwalking.” That would account for the fact she wore no shoes. Although she enjoyed going barefoot, Truro was hardly likely to do so in the bush for fear of spiders.

A vision of Murphy shot into her mind. She remembered now. Murphy had walked into the bright shaft of moonlight and a wolf had loped out. “Right. A wolf…” Truro clambered to her feet, knees shaking and body shivering as the night air seeped through her skin to chill her bones. “That was one hell of a dream.” Even as she said the words, Truro knew although it felt like a dream, there was a strange edge of reality to it. “And I never sleepwalk.” The wandering around naked in the bush part Truro didn’t want to think about. That one she could not reconcile. It was weird enough the image of Murphy and a wolf kept meshing together in her mind.
I am a werewolf.

“Sure you are,” Truro muttered to herself. She looked over to where she thought she had last seen Murphy. There was nothing but disturbed grass and an eerie silence. “And yet I feel like someone is watching me. Bizarro world.” She swallowed hard.
Okay, maybe this is not a dream
. Even as she said the words, Truro stumbled over to where Murphy had last stood. Although she could not see him, Truro could swear she felt him.

Bess’s words about werewolves came back to her. “No, that can’t be possible.” Truro looked up at the sky. “Okay, so we have moonlight…but what the fuck does that tell me?” The moon seemed unusually intense in its brightness considering it was only a crescent moon. Truro remembered how the light had encased Murphy and he had begun twisting and turning and dropping to his knees. “And a wolf appeared. Uh-huh. Well, I’m officially out of my mind. I hear great sex can do that to you.” The sound of her own voice made her realize how totally alone she was out among the trees.

Truro looked around. “Murphy?” she called. Maybe this was a joke. “Funny, I don’t feel like laughing though.” Truro called his name once more. She stood and shivered and thought. It was then that what she’d read on the internet came back to her. At the time it sounded like the typical Hollywood plot. “Man turns into wolf at midnight.” And Murphy had.
I am a werewolf
. “At least I think he has.” If the internet was right she wouldn’t see him until sunrise. Truro shook her head. “You are seriously losing the plot here, woman. A werewolf? Murphy?” But then what other explanation was there? A man had become a beast.

Truro started to think back to what Bess had said about werewolves. “Typical. I was too stupid to listen. Story of my frigging life.” Truro blew out a sigh. Both Bess and Murphy had wanted her to remain open-minded and have faith. “Maybe jumping naked would have been easier.”

It was then Truro heard twigs snap. She looked around her. “Perfect. I’m naked and mumbling to myself. I hope to God it’s not the barbeque boys.” Visions of
Deliverance
came to her mind. Truro bent down and picked up a nearby stick. She was flabby and uncoordinated but she was not one to go down without a fight. She could hear the crunch of footsteps coming toward her. It was too late to run and hide. Besides, where could a naked woman run to without getting into trouble? She regripped the stick as the trees parted.

Joan Scott looked at her as if she were mad. “What are you doing out here? And why naked? And why no shoes? There are snakes out here.”

Great. Snakes. Just when I’m reassuring myself I won’t step on a spider.
“What’s it to you?” Despite the snake thing, Truro had never been so happy to see anyone in her life. That it was a woman and not a drunken barbeque chef was a huge bonus.

“Do you so this often?” Joan stood casually, hands on hips.

Truro crossed her arms over her breasts. “Things are slow in Ludlum.”

“Would you like my shirt?”

“Yes please.” Truro watched as Joan pulled it off over her head and tossed it to her. She stood only in her bra. Truro noted she was chunky yet in an old-fashioned 1950s movie starlet way. Like Truro she was all hips, ass and boobs.

“Sleepwalking?”

“Okay—sure.” That was just as good as any other explanation at the moment. Besides, Truro wasn’t certain about this woman. Why was she wandering around in the dark? Truro dropped the black shirt over her body. It almost covered her ass and pussy.

“Or were you playing with wolves?” The sudden silence between them was obvious and prolonged. Joan broke it. “Oh come on. I know you’re with one of them.”

“I don’t do animals—that’s not counting Rodney of course.” Poor dead Rodney.

“What?”

“Exactly. What are you doing here?” Truro was not about to discuss anything about Murphy until she knew what was going on. “That’s a dagger at your hip isn’t it?” She could see the gleam of silver on the end of the hilt.

“Maybe.” Joan’s hand went down to cover the weapon. “Your boyfriend is a werewolf.”

It was Truro’s turn to put her hands on her hips. “So?”
Whoa I’m taking that calmer than I thought.

“I hunt werewolves.”

Truro snorted. “Oh, you do not.” Though the dagger was hard to explain away. Not many women in Ludlum sauntered around with one—unless it was old Ma Kipner who had a penchant for whittling. And spitting. Crazy gal that one. So what was Ms Croft’s story? Crazy or dangerous?

“I pursue paranormal beings for a price.”

“What sort of a job is that?” Truro couldn’t see that as a marketable skill on a résumé. “Have you ever caught any?”
And there is no way you are catching up with Murphy before I do.

“Yes.”

“Who?” Here she was having a chat in the dark, half-naked, with a woman with a dagger. All very rational.
Not
.

Joan glared at her in defiance. “Some things you don’t need to know.”

“Which means you’ve caught no one.”

“I caught a witch.”

“Oh yeah? Did you behead her with your knife?”

“No. She ended up in a retirement village.”

Truro laughed. “Are you serious?” She looked like she was but what she was saying was crazy.
But then what do I know? I appear to have fallen in love with a werewolf.
“So you came to Ludlum expecting to find werewolves? Was it a psychic moment or a whim?”

“I was hired.” Joan’s voice was tired and snappy.

“By whom?”

“None of your business.” Joan turned from the other woman. “Let’s go back to town.”

Truro stopped the woman by grabbing hold of her arm. “If you hurt Murphy, I will hurt you.” She wasn’t one hundred percent sure what was going on but Truro knew she would not allow Murphy to be hunted.
That is if he’s a wolf. Which he appears to be. Why can’t I just find a nice, normal man
?

“He’s a werewolf.” Joan was adamant on that.

“He’s also mine and I will kick your ass until your nose bleeds if you harm him in any way.”

Joan admired Truro Simpson. She came across a little flaky yet she was loyal to her man and that was not something Joan saw everyday. Normally she dealt with the dregs of society who “thought” they saw vampires and demons. They called her to rid them of the spirits. More often than not it was usually a whiskey and gin she poured down the sink. That they would buy more, Joan didn’t doubt.

Joan surveyed her surroundings. Other than Truro they were alone. There was no sign of the pack. They had to be close by. From what she read on wolves, Joan knew they never let one of their clan shift form unless they were there to protect them. The Irishman had shifted no more than ten minutes ago. Joan had heard the howling. She had seen the bright beam of moonlight. They were all classic signs of a man becoming a beast.

“No sign of the wolves.” They had to be watching. One of their member’s mates was alone and vulnerable. Joan was not stupid. She kept her moves casual with Truro. Risking the wrath of wolf was not something she wanted to do. She thought about the two men who had been attacked. The townsfolk said it was the wolves. Joan doubted it. There was too much of a coincidence with her arrival in town and that of her employer. It amazed her that Absolon thought he could slip into town without her noticing. That he thought she was somewhat of a joke didn’t bother her. Joan was going to use him—as he was her—to find out the truth about who she was.

“Why are you after the wolves?” The two women headed back to the caravan park.

Joan assessed the woman. In some ways, they were very much alike. Same build and attitude. Unlike Truro, Joan was never vulnerable to anyone or anything. She would not allow it. That was her mantra.
Let no one in
. “I’m not here to explain myself to you.”

“You’re a pissy piece of work.”

“So speaks the pot calling the kettle black.”

Joan had to admit it amused her that Truro called her Lara Croft. She was anything but. However, she had to give it to the other woman. She was acting very calm considering her life had just turned upside down. Joan remembered the woman’s words.
He’s also mine.
She loved him. Joan shook her head. Once more she wondered what the hell she was doing there. She had already decided her half-assed agency wasn’t worth keeping open. Just because she believed in the supernatural didn’t mean anyone else did. The clients she usually got were people on crack, those who wanted a laugh at her expense or lonely people who just wanted someone to listen to them.
And that’s what I do
.
I listen too much. I listened to grandma Elspeth and her crazy stories about how the family was descended from great evil on one side and white witches on the other. I wanted to believe her stories about fighting the dark side and helping people. I am such an idiot.

Joan felt the weight of Elspeth’s dagger at her side.
Here I am off chasing evil on the word of a woman who drank neat gin like water in the afternoons.
That her grandma even had a dagger floored Joan. It was the first thing that was handed to her after Elspeth died. “The crazy old coot said to give it to you,” Barney, the next door neighbor said. There was also a letter.

Of course now Joan knew that was a total load of crap. But back then she believed everything her grandma told her and even wanted to restart the same agency Elspeth had failed at. Ostensibly, it had been a storefront where palms were read and cards were turned in search of answers. Tired of boring office work, Joan had taken the plunge. And tried to make it into something more than just a passing parade of freaks who spent too much time staring at the
I want to believe
poster.
And here I am with a naked woman, a bunch of possible werewolves and some guy with a limp who wants revenge.
Joan wasn’t even sure what she was supposed to do with a werewolf if she caught one anyway. It was not like she would kill them. She had trouble with mice and mouse traps. But Absolon had offered her something she desperately needed. Money. A lot of it. Until he walked in her door with his creepy sidekick, Joan had been ready to quit.

As Joan came upon the caravan park, she got her shirt back and left Truro to go change her clothes. She wondered why someone like Truro Simpson was stuck in the backwater of Ludlum. Joan stiffened as she felt a presence suddenly behind her. She knew who it was. Absolon. Only he made her skin crawl. Joan turned to face him.

“So what’s the story here? You tell me about werewolves terrorizing a town and clearly they’re not.”

“Have you seen them?”

“Have you?” Joan was not about to share any knowledge until she knew more about what he wanted. The offer of vast sums of money to find werewolves was one thing. Why Absolon wanted to know and how he planned to use that information was another. And why the hell were they meeting in a dingy caravan park? Joan had heard he was staying there. Why? This man had money. Why did he send her to do a job, only to show up himself?

“Yes. It was a long time ago.” Absolon’s eyes were hard on hers.

Even in the darkness the pale blue of his orbs was chilling. “So why aren’t you chasing them?”

“It’s a long story.”

Yeah it always was
. They were interrupted by a sudden coughing behind them.
Oh what now?
Joan turned and saw him.
Damn. I do not need this now.

“Hello.” Gil Montague greeted her with a nod. “Who’s your friend?”

Joan stiffened as she always did when this man appeared. There was something about him that made her breathe harder and feel a warm rush of heat through her body.

“What do you want?” Absolon made no attempt to hide his impatience.

“I’m checking the lights for Truro.”

Absolon waved his hand. “Everything is fine here.”

“Yes it is.” Gil only had eyes for Joan.

She jumped slightly under his scrutiny, much to her annoyance. Her hand went to her dagger. Why? Joan wasn’t sure. She just felt safer with it.

Gil smiled “Nice dagger.”

“Daggers aren’t nice.”
And why am I suddenly breathless?

“No? It must be the way you wear it then.”

Oh no, I’m blushing. I haven’t blushed in years and yet I’m blushing.

“Um—I er—”
What am I trying to say?
Joan looked from one man to the other. “I have things to do.” It was too late at night to deal with hot guys and weirdos.
I need hot chocolate.

“Me too.” Gil stepped aside to let her pass.

“You know what I require of you.” Absolon called after her then left.

“Yes—you fruitcake,” Joan added under her breath.