Weremones (26 page)

He imagined they were at Diana’s enjoying homemade lasagna. She was having Italian food tonight, planned specially to exclude him. It was either a feeling he gathered from her, or he was being particularly paranoid because of Mack.

Either way, he picked up the phone and dialed her number. After four rings, the answering machine picked up.

“Diana? You know, using caller ID to avoid me is cowardly.” He took a calming breath. No sense in
totally
pissing her off. Again.

“Look, I’m just trying to locate the boys. It’s a school night and no one’s here.”

He felt so stupid rambling on like an idiot to her answering machine. “Are you sure you’re not there? Because—
Beep!
”

His time was up. Briefly, he debated calling back, but decided against it. If she were there, one of the boys would have interceded to let him know where they were.

The wolf inside him strained, unhappy with his conflicted feelings. He needed to pace, to run, to find the answer. Mara, Paul’s mate, always said that he needed to embrace being two halves of a whole. He was both wolf and man.

Instinct told him there was trouble in the air. The man, having female troubles, second-guessed his feelings. He took a deep breath and reached deep inside himself to find that he was still conflicted.

Trying to follow the threads of his pack was useless. He ran into walls everywhere. Bradley, Brandon, and Diana, his touchstones had blocked him out again.

Thin, faint ghost trails mixed in the personalities that made up his pack.

Not for the first time, Adam wondered if one of Garrick’s wardens still lived to cause him trouble. Would they still be connected enough to the boys to be part of the pack fabric?

Sometimes, if there was a strong enough attachment to someone when a wolf transferred, a ghost thread, a faint bond formed in the pack fabric to the loved one left behind.

Could the blood shared with Diana create a pack link to the strays? Dozens of questions with no answers circled his brain.

Forget it. He was Wolven. Head alpha. Canis Pater of his own pack. He’d follow instinct and hunt down his pack, every last member, be they supernatural or human.

Those bound by blood to the pack would
have
to answer his Call.

Adam shoved the gallon of milk in the fridge. His cell phone rang, making him jump and bang his head. He scowled, a little embarrassed and thankful no one was around to see his blunder.

He grabbed the offending gadget from his belt and looked at the ID and blinked.

He shouldn’t be surprised. Why shouldn’t the very psychic he’d just planned to aggravate call him? Adam pressed the answer key with his thumb.

“Hey, Mack. Feeling any better?”

“Hey, yourself. I’m better.”

Adam felt a little better about almost Calling the pack with Mack’s health improved. Not that Mack had anything but unofficial ties to the pack. Ties bound in blood one dark night, when he tried to trade his human life in place of Adam’s on Garrick’s claws. Mack survived the massive damage done by the werewolf attack, barely.

For distracting Garrick and saving his life, Adam shared his blood with the psychic. Considering the severity of the injuries, wolven blood was the only medicine that would have worked.

Mack Spencer would have been dead before an ambulance arrived. Even then, the psychic had been restricted to bed rest for two weeks.

The careful tone of Mack’s voice alerted Adam that something wasn’t quite right.

“Anyway, I had this urge to run back out to the job and make sure our vandals didn’t show back up.”

Urge.
The fine hairs on the back of Adam’s neck stirred. Psychics don’t get urges, Mack once said, unless it’s about food or sex. They get premonitions.

“Did our hot wiring hounds show back up?”

“Not the hot wiring kind. A couple of the bike riding variety. They want to talk to the Canis.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Good. Because, I finally put together that puzzle.”

Positive that middle-schoolers on bicycles weren’t waiting for him, Adam slammed the door behind him, already on his way to the truck.

He remembered Diana’s injuries and the type of medicine used to heal them. A territorial growl rumbled from his chest. If those strays so much as laid a paw on another one of his people, he’d rip their throats out.

He knew the strays dispatched with the other members of the gang. That much he’d gotten from a brief handwritten message found in the mailbox. The strays promised no trouble while they were in the area. The scents around the box and on the note matched those Diana had carried that night.

Despite the promise, Adam didn’t feel comfortable with the remaining two members of the Hell Hounds running around his territory.

The Hellhounds weren’t a pack. They weren’t a single gang. They were nomadic animals with no loyalty to any pack, forming small groups simply because hunting with a group was easier than hunting alone.

He was about to find out if he could hold a territory and his choice of mate without any wardens.

Adam tried to reach out to his pack members without using the call. Everywhere he searched, he met a blocked tension that heightened his anxiety.

A pain lanced through his chest. Adam gasped and nearly plowed into the back of the car in front of him. Fear and determination flowed from Diana as the shield around her emotions weakened and dissolved. The sensations he received from her weren’t overpowering. They were surprising and muffled.

Adam pushed down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. She was in danger. Hurt. She needed him.

Think.
Where would she have gone?

He dialed her home number again and got the answering machine.

“Diana, call me on my cell as soon as you get this message. It’s important.”

He pushed the end button, spying the red Ranger truck Bradley drove. Sure enough the teen was at the wheel, his pack brothers crammed inside the cab with him.

Adam flashed his lights and laid on the horn. He didn’t care who he annoyed on the street.

Adam slowed while Bradley made a U-turn and pulled in behind him. With a hand wave out the window, he signaled for them to follow.

Did he just get a truckload of teenagers for backup? A sixteen-year-old with a brand new license was the oldest of the lot.

There was no help for the cramp in his abdomen, or the situation. He consoled himself with the knowledge that at least he knew where the boys were. He could send them off with Mack if things got too rough.

Adam sped down the rutted, unpaved subdivision road to the end, where two motorcycles gleamed under the yellow yard lights mounted in the front yard. After the break in and vandalism, Adam was making it a policy to have his properties well lit at all times. The red Ranger pulled in beside him.

Four teens spilled out of the truck as Mack and the two leather clad strays stepped out of the house. One of the strays was dark-skinned, often called African American by humans, or simply black. Supernaturals didn’t make racial distinctions. Their prejudices were species orientated.

The other male was as golden as his companion was dark. The coppery scent of old blood hung in the air. Even injured, both wolven strays would be formidable in a fight.

In the moment it took for Adam to size up the males, Bradley went for full attack mode. The teen’s claws ran out to full dueling claws. His face contorted, lengthening into a muzzle full of sharp predator’s teeth before he hit the blond biker. The shit was about to hit the fan.

“Bradley!” Adam yelled. “Down!”

Everyone moved back, the dark biker included. Soon Adam had the pup pulled off the man. The blond biker’s eyes gleamed red in the lights, but he was calm. Adam noted the blond male held Bradley off with human hands.

Adam shook his pup hard by the scruff of the neck, rattling teeth, and then let the boy’s feet touch the ground. His hand remained on Bradley’s neck.

Emotion ran high in his little pack. The other three boys took their cue from the eldest, shuffling their feet and shooting angry glances in the strays’ direction.

“All of you calm down.”

Adam turned an authoritative eye on the two outsiders.

“Now. What are you still doing in my territory?”

His fingers gripped reflexively when Bradley lunged again. The boy didn’t get to lean more than a few inches forward.

Really, the kid was going to have to cut this alpha wanna-be shit out until he had more muscle to back the attitude. A faint smile twitched around Adam’s mouth at boy’s tenacity. He arched an eyebrow at the strays, waiting for an answer.

The dark one responded with a nod, an autocratic mien that made the hackles rise on the back Adam’s neck. He narrowed his gaze on the male. Mack took the opportunity to move closer to the younger boys.

“Show ‘em, Tank,” the blond male said.

Tank responded by pulling his tee shirt out of the leather jeans. A white bandage marred the dark definition of his exposed belly.

Several were pink and fading, or darkening to his normal skin tone, healing wounds. Obvious claw marks, scraped the length of his body from his armpits to his waist. Dueling wounds received from the teeth and claws of other supernaturals and silver healed at a slower rate than normal injuries.

Tank peeled away the white square, revealing a raw ragged wound, still red and weeping around the clotted blood. Neat, even stitches kept the five-inch opening in his belly closed. Someone or something had twisted and yanked on the weapon, doing as much damage as possible. A human in Tank’s place would likely have been dead.

“Man! Don’t that hurt?” Rick’s accented voice was laced with awe, despite the pup’s bored drawling of words.

“Course it hurts you idiot.” Seth gave his pack brother a light shove, but the boy’s tone was neutral. His dark brown eyes were fixed on Adam as they waited for the alpha’s decision.

He felt Bradley’s focus also shift from the strays to himself.

“Tank got that when we stopped to help a human on the highway. A psychic.”

The blond male looked Adam full in the eyes. He seemed to come to a decision within himself. He dropped his gaze to a more neutral, less aggressive, spot, giving the local Canis the respect of his station.

“The name’s Chase. This pin cushion—” he pointed a thumb at the darker male—

“is Tank.”

Both males kept a close eye on the pack and Mack while managing relaxed, unthreatening, postures. Which Adam knew from past experience, was more difficult than it looked. Quite a feat for a couple of strays, bitten ones at that.

“Anyway, we were at some dive, on our way out of the territory. We stopped for a beer and to shoot the breeze about where to head to next. This guy came up needing a hand with his bike. The dude reeked of psychic, so we decided help out.”

“And being the helpful kind of guys you are, you just jump up to go fix it, huh?”

Mack’s expression said he thought otherwise.

Chase shrugged.

“He was pretty rank looking. But hey, we’ve been on the other side. So what the hell?”

Chase smirked as he confirmed his bitten status. Being bitten was the wolven equivalent of being born out of wedlock. There wasn’t the stigma there once was, but it still raised a few eyebrows from the old school.

“Besides, there’s nothin’ more pitiful than a broke down biker that can’t fix his own ride.”

The blond male grinned, obviously more impressed with his humor than anyone present.

Adam shook his head, disgusted. His hand dropped away from Bradley as he turned toward his truck.

“I don’t have time for this.” He turned to Mack and the boys. “It’s time to hunt. If anyone’s got a clue where to look for Diana, spill it.”

He didn’t want the strays in on his pack problems, but he felt her fading. He wasn’t going to lose her like Amanda. This time if he failed, he’d lose a lot more than his pride. He’d probably loose a good chunk of his heart.

“Adam, wait. Let’s hear them out.” Mack looked at the strays, but through them, as well. His voice was distant, caught between here and wherever his gifts took him.

“No. We’ve got to go.” He too was torn between places. The line he associated with the female psychic was unraveling, slowly but surely.

“Adam!”

“Canis!” Mack and the dark stray called at Adam’s retreating back.

He didn’t know where to find her. If he’d been more persistent, convinced her to accept him as a bonded mate, then he’d be able to track her now using the mate’s bond.

“Canis! The human who stabbed me knew what he was dealing with. He thought to surprise me while my brother was occupied with repairs.”

“Adam, it’s your girlfriend. She’s in a car with the killer.”

Adam turned, suddenly furious at Mack.

“You knew. You’ve been seeing her,” he accused. His fists balled as he walked back to the psychic. “Where is she? So help me God ….”

The psychic should have been afraid of the angry wolven approaching him. Instead, he looked sympathetic. Damn the irritating,
human
, bastard.

“I’ve never met her. You were courting her, so I’ve kept my distance.”

“Kept your distance?” He snarled. Jealousy and impotence fueled the fires of his rage. “How the hell do you keep your distance from someone you’ve never met?”

Mack was calm.

“I know how to find my own kind, Adam.”

The two strays growled. Mack glanced their way. Some kind of undercurrent passed between them, then the psychic focused back on Adam.

“She’s not dead yet. While there is life, there is hope.”

“What the hell does that mean? I need details to find her, not platitudes,” Adam growled.

“Heads up, Canis. You’re about to get more company.”

Chase nodded at three sets of approaching headlights turning into the subdivision, bouncing down the road toward them. The thump-thump of their speakers beat the air before the sound reached their ears.

Neon lights glowed under the vehicles, outlining two low-rider trucks and a car.

“It appears you could use some assistance, Canis.”

Tank moved to stand beside Adam. A protective growl trickled from Bradley.