Weremones (27 page)

“It’s that coyote Nick and the rest of his werejackasses.” The boy slipped in front of Adam directing his comment to his alpha.

Despite Bradley’s unexpected defense, Adam moved the boy aside to confront the stray himself. Again he was struck at the incongruity of the leather-clad biker with highbrow speech and manners.

“Thanks for the offer, but no.” His pack, his business.

A chorus of high-pitched howls rose in the tree line behind the house. From the road, the stenciling,
Bite the Hand that Feeds You
, of the first truck became clear.

Appropriate for coyotes.

Beside him, Bradley, and the other boys, froze. Wary nervousness rolled from them. Not outright fear, not yet, but soon.

“Oh, shit,” muttered Rick, “it’s Benj.”

Now, Adam smelled fear. And he didn’t like that this Benj brought it to his pack.

A growl slipped from his throat.

“Where’s Brandon?”

He hadn’t had a chance to ask before and hadn’t been too worried since Bradley didn’t appear to be. Brandon tended to disappear when he felt pressed and Adam had been more concerned with Diana’s disappearance.

“I was looking for him when we passed you.”

Bradley stared into the dark behind the house, as glued to the imminent approaching coyotes as his pack brothers.

Benj. The werecoyote leader Adam had been putting off meeting. Most likely, the coyote was another friend of Garrick Moser. Trust that sick individual to make a deal with weres. Adam had a real good guess who this Benj was.

“If they wish to fight, Pater Canis,” Tank said, ever so carefully. “The coyote pack stands to gain your human ally for their own. Then how will you find your injured female? The young ones ….”

“Will fight,” Bradley interrupted. Fire and venom laced his words. “Those bastards won’t touch what’s ours.”

Adam was outnumbered. The approaching vehicles braked in the drive, spitting dirt and gravel everywhere. The coyotes hidden in the dark had the wind with them. By the sound of them, they outnumbered a good-sized wolven pack of twenty.

“What do you want?” The time for negotiations was gone, wasted on petty jealousy.

“A place in your pack, Pater Canis.” Tank used the formal title again, pointing out Adam’s responsibility as Pack Father. The honorary felt weighted, more significant to him, as the boys’ guardian.

“Now wait a minute,” Chase’s voice rose with indignation. Tank waved his companion to silence. Adam hushed Bradley with a hand on his shoulder. The boy’s jaws snapped together with an audible click.

“Quiet, brother. It is time we belonged.”

Chase scowled and crossed his arms. He nodded once, put out, but not about to let Tank enter into an agreement without him.

“You are in dire need of wardens. Consider the coming confrontation our interview.”

“Done.”

Adam gave his back to the vehicles. He turned to face the coyotes he scented coming from the woods. The youngsters sitting in their vehicles held no threat for him.

Shadows slunk into the next cleared lot. The little bit of light was enough to see coyotes. Smaller than wolven in animal form, half the size of Adam’s animal form, the coyotes were still larger than their true animal cousins.

They stopped about a hundred feet away.

The biggest of them changed first. Bones shifted, popped and moved under the half-coyote form. Fur receded like water into a vaguely human physique. The elongated muzzle shrank. Claws became hands. Normal hair returned onto the man’s perfectly average body, toned without being muscular.

As a human, the coyote leader was unassuming. At least a couple of decades older than himself, Adam guessed. The coyote had medium length hair, probably reddish brown with a sprinkling of premature gray, considering the werecoyote’s longevity.

Wolven night vision, while excellent, did not pick up color very well.

The coyote seemed to be waiting for something. His followers ranged around him in animal form, looking to their leader for guidance. He spread his hands out in a gesture of peace, a conciliatory smile gracing his plain features.

Adam felt the shift from fear to guilt in his pack. Whatever the boys failed to tell him, it was too late now. Finding out at the last minute seemed to be a trend with the boys.

“I am Benjamin Gates.” The coyote’s voice was his one distinguishing feature, a rich deep baritone. “You must be Adam Weis. My friends call me Benj.”

Adam crossed his arms over his chest and waited, his demeanor as icy as his pale coloring. After a few moments of Adam’s silence, the coyote faltered.

“I’ve heard of
you
, Weis. Garrick and his wardens were no small feat to defeat.”

Bradley moved from his place behind Adam to where his pack brothers closed ranks. The older males moved in a protective circle around the boys, yet not so close that they’d be tripped up in a fight.

“However,” Benjamin continued, recovering his earlier confidence, “You are new to the area, so I understand that you don’t quite understand how things work around here.”

Adam cocked an eyebrow.

“Or perhaps,” he said with fake surprise, “you didn’t receive my message. You see, these are
my
running grounds you are trespassing on.”

Adam’s tone was bored. His expression was unimpressed in the face of the twenty some-odd werecoyotes. “And here I thought my name was on the deed. I’m sure my lawyer notified you. He’s very thorough.”

“No!”

The werecoyote’s eyes gleamed red in the night. His anger rolled across the field, the scent bitter, triggering a rush of territorial heat in the wolven. Adam kept his features bored, though he wanted to run the intruders off of his property. The irrational coyote leader headed the top of his list.

“This place is mine! These woods have been in my pack for over two hundred years!”

“Then you should have paid your taxes.”

Adam had bought the land for a song by paying off the back taxes. He’d also thought the property would be good to run, but the proximity of two hospitals and a funeral home was too close.

It never failed to surprise him what humans tolerated.

For most supernaturals, especially the more long-lived ones, death was abhorrence. Sickness, triggered latent instincts used for pruning the weak and the sick from the herd.

In the end, Adam decided to break the land up for subdivisions and use the profit for the boys’ college. He’d buy cleaner running grounds later. For now, he alternated between using the forested Dogwood Park and about a hundred and fifty acres owned by an out of town businessman.

It was too bad for the coyotes that their leader had mismanaged their inheritance.

The coyote’s loss turned into a good financial move for the wolven pack.

Gates snarled. His average features twisted into a more sinister visage.

“You are the interloper here, wolf. I’ve tolerated your kind long enough already. Time to pay up. On my terms.”

Adam sensed the boys freeze behind him. There was a silent expectancy in the fabric of the pack while they waited for his answer.

“You were the one defaulted on your taxes. I’ve got the receipts and the deed of transfer. I don’t owe you a thing.”

Curiously, the coyotes didn’t attack. In Adam’s place, with the superior numbers, he would have gone on the offensive.

He didn’t know what to expect from werecoyotes. He’d never dealt with them before, as wolven didn’t allow the presence of other shape shifting supernaturals in their territory. Another mark in Garrick’s offense.

Gates stalked closer, anger and frustration palpable. His coyotes shifted, tuned into their leader’s agitation, but stayed where they were. Low growls filled the night.

Gates stopped out of Adam’s immediate reach.

“I could have you torn to bits, boy. I’ve got this town wrapped up from city board members all the way down to dealers.” Spittle flew in Adam’s direction.

“You think you’re a builder? Your high dollar Dallas references don’t mean squat. All I need is to say the word and your piddley little business dries up.” Adam’s smile was grim. “Get off my property
were
. Better yet, out of my territory.”

The werecoyote lunged, changing back into his coyote form. He was fast and clever. Adam was quicker.

Gates’ forward motion ended in an abrupt drop on his butt. Adam stood over him, three inches of lethal dueling claws extended. Four red lines gaped across Gates’ chest.

The aroma of fresh blood scented the air as rich rivulets ran down his torso.

Adam snarled at the coyotes, daring them to intercede. He backed away, allowing Gates to stand. Inside, the wolf snapped and snarled, wanting the kill.

As bad an idea it was, Adam didn’t have the heart to kill him, especially in front of the boys. He held a tight leash on thousands of years of instinct bred to defend what belonged to him.

Magic, power leaked around his control, spilling into the air. Someone, he didn’t know who, wolf or coyote, whimpered in response.

“Get off my property.” Adam repeated. “Unless, anyone else wants to dispute me?”

His question was a statement, a challenge to the werecoyotes. All eyes stared past him to his pack. Behind him, the two strays had changed for dueling. Mack held a couple of very sleek handguns.

Gates gave a bark toward the low rider vehicles. The group of coyote teens, having left the safety of their vehicles, scrambled back inside.

“Guns aren’t allowed in a challenge duel.”

Gates had the audacity to look affronted. Adam nearly laughed. Instead he curled his lip, exposing the sharp length of his canines.

“Duel? You are not wolven.”

The click of Mack’s guns, readying for a confrontation drove home Adam’s point.

Wolven did not extend the privilege of their laws to other weres.

“We had an agreement with the old wolf leader.” Benjamin Gates sounded desperate. He needed something from the wolves. “I’ll tell you what, we share the territory and I’ll share the profits from my businesses. I’m diversified, you could say.”

“I’ll tell you what
were
.” It had changed so much, Adam’s voice was a deep growly bass. “In case you missed the obvious, I’m not Garrick Moser. And I don’t share …” Adam flashed his canines. His clawed hands flexed with restrained power, “…

Anything
.”

The world drifted in a surreal haze of pain. Diana was no doctor, but she knew that something was wrong. She shivered with a cold awareness that cold was a bad thing.

Her front and hands were covered in sticky cooling liquid. Blood. Her blood.

Alarm skittered through the haze.

Think calm. Don’t panic. Got to help Karen. Make sure the bad guy doesn’t hurt her.

Breathing hurt. Diana tried to take a breath around the pain in her chest, but couldn’t get air in right.

Thinking was hard. A plan. Diana needed a plan. A simple one.

She knew she might have one chance for Karen to get away. All she had to do was save her strength and hold out long enough until they stopped.

She eyed the sagging seat belt that the man shrugged behind him.

Karen complained constantly that the high riding seatbelt choked her. The belt caught over the narrow top of the Cavalier’s passenger bucket seat. The man settled sideways to keep an eye on Karen.

“Turn here,” he directed in a raspy voice.

Diana eased up, carefully, thankful for the dark interior.

Shallow breaths, she reminded herself when she nearly choked.

“Why are you doing this?” The angry thunk of Karen’s fist against the steering wheel sounded loud in the car.

Good girl. Diana cheered silently. Don’t show him any fear. That’s what he wants.

“Fucking werewolf whelp. Shut up!”

Please, please, please don’t set him off.
Diana pleaded silently with her daughter.

She was too weak to shield herself. The man’s anger and madness were knives that beat inside her brain.

“You werewolves think you’re so special.”

The man fumbled a bit, one handed, producing a cigarette lighter that flared briefly. Diana glimpsed the shine off of the tip of the serrated hunting knife he held at Karen. The blade was dark with her blood.

Smoke curled in the interior, acrid, making Diana cough.

“Mom?”

Karen’s voice rose and hitched.

“Shut up and drive.”

“What did we ever do to you?”

He laughed. It was an awful sound, like a rusty saw blade, all sharp, jagged, and filthy evil.

“Animals. You dress up in human clothes and pretend you’re not an animal. But I know. Grady Dobbs sees the beast inside.”

He gestured with the bloody knife.

“Turn here. You and your mom thought you could trick me. But I saw it in you anyway.”

“I know this place.” Karen’s voice was a whisper. “Not here.”

“Yeah. Fitting ain’t it? Does your mom know? I bet she does. Animal.”

“Stop in front of the waterfall. That way when you Change, you’ll already be in place for your
boyfriends.”
He spat the last word at Karen. “Both of them, to find you. I guess horny teenagers are all the same, whatever the breed.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Shut up and get out wolf slut. And don’t try running off. I’m a tracker. The Dobbs are all trackers. Big game hunting runs in the family.”

He laughed that evil sound again.

“How do you think I found your cozy little den in the first place?”

Karen’s fear and worry spurred Diana’s adrenaline, giving her a boost of strength.

Karen opened her door, bringing in the smell of cool water. The overhead dome light was bright. Diana lowered her eyelids, trying to look out from under her lashes.

She only had one chance to help her daughter escape. No re-dos.

Karen looked over the seat and gasped. Horrified.

“Mom.”

Run baby, please run,
she urged.

“Get out, bitch. Or I’ll finish her now.”

Diana slapped the door lock down with one hand. She grabbed the seat belt, slipped it over the man’s head with the other. She pulled the slack tight with her failing strength.