Authors: Ella Drake
Wolf Bitten
Cobblestone Press
www.cobblestone-press.com
Copyright ©2009 by Ella Drake
First published in 2009
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Wolf Bitten
Copyright© 2009 Ella Drake
ISBN: 978-1-60088-426-9
Cover Artist: Bree Bridges
Editor: Leanne Salter
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Cobblestone Press, LLC
www.cobblestone-press.com
A mile behind Brock Wolfrik, smudge pots spewed rank smoke into the air while he ran from the last three of his thirty-six years. Dog kennels weren't good enough for dogs, much less a man who needed to stand tall without his fur on occasion. The three werewolves loping beside him would agree. Over their panting, he heard shots echoing behind them. All four picked up the pace while their hearts raced, thundering in his ears.
Their paws scrambled over a rocky ledge as they snuffled and sneezed to rid themselves of the pollution.
He wasn't entirely sure, but he judged their position to be in the foothills of the Appalachians, probably North Georgia. His PACk—Petrol Abolished Community—couldn't be far.
The Alphas of his PACk would be appalled to learn of Wolfsbane's dog-fighting ring. He didn't have time to inform them now, though. He had to find Allie. First, he had to get out of here.
The little white female who'd escaped with him fell back a bit. Weeks of living with petrol fumes coating her lungs had taken its toll. He didn't know her name. Males had been kept apart from the females, but he wouldn't have noticed anyway. He didn't know any of their names. Fighting for his life every time he'd been forced from his cage didn't allow time to get to know the other captives.
He flicked his head back to the other two males. The smaller lupine, his fur black with silver highlights, chuffed. Nose bobbing to the ground and up, he waved Brock forward. Brock didn't need any other incentive. The one good thing about living with gas fires surrounding him for years, he'd developed a resistance to the corrosive allergy. He leapt into a dead run, leaving the trailing wolves behind. He didn't look back.
All he cared about now was finding his mate and taking her home.
Allie Greene rubbed at the grease caked on her cheek and gave an oil change receipt to her customer. The woman smiled and pulled down her sunglasses, frowning at the motorcycle with a rumbling muffler blaring into the garage entrance.
Crossing the pavement, the shiny chrome and red hog pulled up to a pump. The woman and her minivan pulled out amid the waves of heat rising above the asphalt. Allie tugged the blue uniform canvas shirt down to cover her midriff and rubbed her hands on her khakis before she could catch herself from soiling them.
"Damn. I'll never get these clean,” she huffed and moved toward the gas pumps.
"Don't matter none, Allie,” replied the station owner, her boss and friend, Alfonso, who stepped up beside her and stroked his beard.
She stopped herself from replying that he was right, it didn't matter because the smell from her clothes effectively camouflaged her. He'd wonder if she'd cracked if she said something like that.
The sun reflected off the cycle and blurred the writing on the rider's leather jacket.
"I've got this one,” Fonso said. He hooked his thumbs behind his overall straps and strolled to the customer, his red neck gleaming between his baseball cap-covered dark hair and his white T-shirt.
He grinned ear to ear before he drawled, “Hey brother. What can I do you for?"
Brother?
There was no resemblance between the two. The tall and muscular customer towered over her friend.
"Just fill'er up.” He shrugged out of his jacket to reveal an arm covered in tats. When she approached, he turned in profile and exposed his piercings; lines of rings around the top of his ears, and another through one of his brows. Not the typical look for Duluth, Georgia. Maybe he'd taken a wrong turn somewhere in Atlanta and ended up out here in the suburban sprawl instead of Little Five Points. He'd fit in that eclectic neighborhood. “I'm on my way out past Toccoa Falls. Got a bitch to see."
"I'll bet you do,” Fonso said around a chuckle.
Bitch?
Let Fonso take care of the asshole.
Allie scowled and started to turn back to the service bay when the man threw his jacket over the back of his seat. An emblem she'd dreaded most of her life blared up at her, and she froze. Sweat trickled down the sides of her face, but she didn't move to wipe it.
Wolfsbane. The emblem of two swords crossed over the head of a howling wolf represented the hunters who preyed on the PACk. Even though she was completely human, she'd been raised in one of their peaceful communities and couldn't understand the motives of Wolfsbane. She'd run from home so she wouldn't have to couple with one of them, but they didn't cause trouble for anyone. They kept to themselves.
Fonso and the man murmured to each other, their voices too low for her to hear above the traffic rushing by on the interstate. Brock would want to know about this, but she didn't know where he was, and she sure didn't want to know. The last she'd seen him, he'd been pissed and didn't give her a chance to explain her fears. Not that she could tell him that she didn't want to mate with a half-man, half-animal. He wouldn't take that well, probably worse than he'd taken her refusal of marriage.
"Hey, Allie."
She started before she recognized her best friend's voice. Max gripped her arm from behind. “Why are you standing in the middle of the driveway?"
"Oh, just about to head back inside for a break. Fonso's got it covered out here,” she said. By the time she peeked back over her shoulder, the dark-haired man had slipped his helmet and jacket back on.
Over the racket of the muffler, she yelled at Max, “Come on, let's get out of this heat."
The bell jingled over the door when they went inside to a cold wave of conditioned air. In the small front office, Allie grabbed two bottles of water from the mini-fridge and handed one to the tall and gangly Max, who wore a local band shirt and jeans, his usual outfit of choice.
"How ‘bout we take a turn at your place for movie night?” Max's voice remained neutral, but the pleading in his eyes twinged her a little. Crowded by his three roommates, he obviously wanted to go to her studio apartment because they'd be alone.
"I don't think that's a good idea. My TV is about as big as a bread box,” she said, trying to discourage him without an outright rejection.
"Come on, we can watch something old so it won't matter.” Max flashed his most charming grin, his teeth white in his tanned face, the one that usually worked with other girls.
"Okay, you bring the popcorn, but I can't promise I won't fall asleep halfway through."
"That's okay,” he said and grinned. “You can use me as a pillow."
"Uh-huh.” She bent over the day's repair schedule to pretend interest.
She didn't think Brock would like her sleeping on Max. Not one bit. She'd been trying to ignore Max's attempts to move from friendship to something more. Something she couldn't give. Damn Brock for preying on her mind when she hadn't seen him in years. She didn't want him. Really, she didn't. Why not take what Max had to offer?
The door dinged again when Fonso entered.
"Guess break time is over.” She downed the rest of her water in one big gulp and tried not to let her worry show when she asked, “Who was your friend?"
His usual jocularity hidden behind a mask of indifference, Fonso eyed her for a moment. “What friend?"
"On the hog.” She tipped her head to the side toward the front of the station.
"Him? Not a friend. He's just passing through."
Before Allie could ask anything more, a car pulled up, and she headed outside.
"I'll see you tonight,” Max said when she didn't bother saying good-bye. He touched her hand as they walked out before he crossed to his car. That bucket of bolts should've been too loud to surprise her, but somehow he'd parked it while she'd been studying the Wolfsbane scum.
Once she'd filled the customer's tank, she retreated to the overhang of the service bay. Fonso was still inside, making calls to customers with repair updates. She flipped open her mobile and hit speed dial for her mom, Sunnie, who'd promised to keep secret Allie's whereabouts. Sunnie knew where Allie had settled, to a point. She knew what city, but not her address or where she worked.
"Hi, Mom."
"How's my baby?” asked Sunnie, all sweet, slow molasses.
"Good, I guess. Listen, I don't want to worry you, ‘cause I'm not in any danger or anything, but a Wolfsbane man was here at work a few minutes ago."
"Sweetheart, I think you should come home,” her mom said. Though she said this every time they talked, she did sound worried this time.
"You know I can't."
"Brock's been in touch. He wants to know where you are."
Allie's mouth went dry, and butterflies tumbled through her stomach. If she were honest with herself, she might admit that the news excited her a little.
"Even more reason for me to stay away” she managed to say while her tongue tried to stick to the roof of her mouth. “I told you I couldn't marry him."
"Don't be so cruel to the poor boy. He bonded to you, and he won't be able to have another. He's a good man. Strong. Protective."
"Yeah, he's strong. That's part of the problem. He's dangerous."
"Sweetheart, you know he'd never hurt you,” her mom cajoled. Sunnie continued the habitual pleading while Allie tuned her out. Her mother meant well, but she wasn't married to a werewolf either, so how could she expect her daughter to mate with a beast?
Brock would never hurt her? Allie knew no such thing. Why did her mom always take his side? Why did the woman think her daughter had run away from home, anyway? Always giving her mom slack, Allie knew Sunnie owed everything to the PACk that had protected and sheltered them both from an abusive marriage. Gratitude could only go so far. Allie had danced around the issue long enough. It was hot, and she was tired and cranky. Not to mention, Brock had always been the best hunter.
The hair on the back of her neck crawled.
She turned quickly to look behind her. Nothing there but the inside of the garage filled with tools, the hydraulic lift, and the acrid smell of gas. Brock wouldn't be at a service station anyway. The PACk couldn't come to town because the effects of petroleum weakened them and made some deathly ill. She was safe here, as she'd planned. Working and living in the city threw off her scent, but add to it the effects of petrol, and Brock would never find her.
For a brief moment, the idea of seeing Brock again pinched her heart, but she stifled that weakness. If he found her, he'd want to mate. He'd want to bite her. Her neck tingled again.
Her mom continued pleading over the phone, but Allie hadn't followed the chatter.
"Mom, I've gotta go. I won't marry a man that you promised me to when I was born, for goodness sake. What are we, in the dark ages or something? Besides, I'm not going to do the dirty with a dog."
Her mom's sharp intake of breath almost made her apologize, but Sunnie needed to face the truth.
"Allie, Brock's not a dog,” her mother chastised. “But he is a powerful hunter. He'll find you, and let me tell you, there's nothing more persuasive than a werewolf in love."
Allie refrained from asking why her mother would know that. She was too caught up in calming her leaping heart. “Bye, Mom. I'll call you later."
"Give him a chance. We both love you and want you home."
Allie wasn't going home. After Brock had proposed to her when she'd turned eighteen, she'd considered it, but then she'd stumbled on a wolf couple mating in the woods. The feral growls and nearly violent consummation had turned her stomach. She'd run and never looked back.
Could Brock love her, truly? Even after she'd left him?