~ Chapter 3 ~
"Evenin' gorgeous."
"Can it, Chuck."
I was not in a good mood.
Even after showing up late to work—and I'd had to change twice in order to get there—Joseph acted as if nothing had been wrong. But I knew he'd noticed my irritability. I was always irritable after changing a lot. And ten times in two days was not normal for me. Chuck was not helping with his chipper attitude. Who named their kid Chuck anyway?
"There's pasta on the counter if you want any." Paul on the other hand, was being much more helpful. I was in the middle of shoveling noodles in my mouth when my neck bristled. A second later, my nose—passed the strong smell of garlic and tomatoes—told me that someone was none too happy with me.
Chuck was glaring at me with yellow eyes. He was a weak dominant for a reason. He didn't have the best control over his wolf yet. From what little I understood about the pack, Chuck changed shortly before I did. My neck continued to bristle, but my wolf didn't stir. That freaked me out more than Chuck's yellow eyes.
Between one moment and the next, my plate of pasta was on the floor and a very angry wolf pinned me against the counter. Even I could smell my fear.
"Hi Chuck," I said lamely, not even caring that my voice cracked.
"Chuck." Paul's voice was much calmer than mine. And much stronger.
Chuck growled but knew a losing battle when he saw one. Paul was a weak dominant, but not as weak as Chuck. By that logic, Paul outranked Chuck, and I was very, very glad.
"She should learn her place," was barely a growl from Chuck's throat. His breath against my forehead made my hair stand on end. And still, my wolf didn't stir. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Paul tilt his head, a very wolfish gesture of curiosity. I didn't bother figuring out what made him curious. With a dominant wolf pinning me to the counter, I had other priorities.
"That's not your job, Chuck." Paul moved closer. His eyes were his normal brown. My chest loosened a smidge. "Leave it to Alex to handle submissives."
I felt Paul's power tingle across my skin. A weak dominant Paul was, true, but he was old. According to rumor, anyway. I hoped that meant he knew what he was doing. After a moment's struggle, Chuck shoved away, and I could finally take a free breath. He growled but didn't dare to meet Paul's eyes. While Chuck skulked away and flipped on the TV, Paul threw a rag at me and grabbed one for himself.
"Thanks," I managed to squeak out quietly, mopping up tomato sauce. Paul scooped the noodles onto a plate and stood to throw them away. I opened my mouth, thinking he hadn't heard me.
"Go to bed, Sam," he said softly, not even looking at me. His power still electrified the air, and I dared not test him. Weak or not, dominant outranked submissive any day. I knew at least that much. I threw my sauce-stained rag away and turned to leave. Paul stopped me with a touch on my arm. "Here." And a plate of pasta magically appeared in his hand. I smiled weakly without meeting his gaze, took the plate, and left. I didn't want to stand around and question dominance struggle; neither did I want to be around the injured pride and brooding mood of Chuck.
My loft was little comfort, but at least I'd hear Chuck—or anyone for that matter—climbing the stairs. I sat in my reading chair, the clink of fork on plate almost drowning out the drone of the TV sportscaster.
I devoured the pasta in minutes, and I almost licked the plate clean. Almost. It was a tempting thought. I set the tray on the floor to take down later, stomach still growling. Side effect of changing so often. And being the cause of a power struggle. I yawned and stretched, wishing I had beef jerky or something stashed under my bed. I rubbed at the crick in my neck instead, trying to ease the muscle that always acted up after changing. Which reminded me: my bathroom was still a wreck from earlier.
"It can wait," I grumbled to myself. Climbing into bed sounded like a much better chore than cleaning fur from the tile and bathtub. As I collapsed on top of my blankets—again—I realized belatedly that I was still wearing clothes. That wouldn't help me sleep. After much struggling, I managed to get my shoes and socks off. I didn't have the energy to tackle my work pants. Even with the venison from the previous night, my body was in a sorry state. My wolf growled as I crawled under my blanket, the heavy quilt a welcome weight.
Sure, now she reacts, I thought bitterly, rolling over and shoving my head under my pillow to drown out the TV downstairs. I felt oddly comforted by the presence of my wolf-sister, though why she hadn't shown up earlier, I couldn't guess. Normally dominance struggles drew her out, a reaction to stronger wolves losing control. But she hadn't. Paul. That had to be it. Was Paul really that strong? To control two wolves? And he was second lowest in the pack?
It was too much for my tired brain to figure out on a near-empty stomach. So instead I curled up and closed my eyes, letting the sportscaster's lackluster account of some basketball team dull my wits to sleep.
Running. Always running. The moon nipping at my heels. Dark trees gnash their teeth, and a distant glow urged me to faster speeds. Leaves crunch beneath my claws, and I stumble over an unseen log. Grass springs up on both sides of the black path, dark spears against a darker forest. The moon bites my heels again, and I kick my feet, dodging an attacking tree and barely avoiding a lancing branch as I dug my claws into shadowy earth and pushed on.
The glow grows steadily brighter but never closer. Always the blackness roars in my ears, deafening my attempts to hear coming attacks. The ground grabs at my feet, black tendrils like smoke taking shape and snarling as I pass. They snatch at my legs, chilling my fur wherever they touched. But I break away every time somehow.
My heart pounds in my chest, distorting my vision with every beat. Like waves of heat at the outer edges of my eyes, the distortion played tricks just as the blackness tried to swallow me by any means necessary. My lungs burn with every breath, the challenge of breathing almost secondary to that of running.
Smoke tangles my legs, making me stumble. My nose scrapes through bladed grasses. I smell blood. Snapping at the ensnaring tendril, I drag my legs out of its snare and run. I can't feel my leg. The chill numbs my hip and spreads up my back. No! I have to keep running! I stumble again, unable to feel either of my back legs. Whining, I drag myself through mocking grasses and laughing trees. I have to reach the glow. I have to!
More smoke seeps up from the ground and wraps around my legs and body. The cold burns even through my fur.
The glow is so close! Safety, I know it, is there. I'll be safe there.
But the smoke tightens around me, and the grasses shiver in a deadly wind. The moon looms over me, its silver light blinding and burning. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to escape the snares dragging me under the dark wave. The glow is brighter, and I can feel its warmth on my fur, burning the snares.
But they're tenacious and don't want to let go. I wiggle and struggle, trying to rid myself of them. But I'm too weak. I whine and howl, clawing and biting at the snares slowly numbing every part of me. The glow is so close I can feel its heat burning my icy limbs. Just another inch…if I can get another inch…
Dark.
No, dark was bad. Dark was very bad.
A light clicked on, and I saw my own hand grabbing the lamp-pull.
Something woke me up. A sound. A voice. Something. But nothing decided to answer my unvoiced challenge. I couldn't speak if I wanted to. My chest hurt for how hard I breathed and how fast my heart beat. Sweat slicked my skin I noticed with a flicker of displeasure. My wolf was on high alert, growling and pacing. How I knew she was pacing, I didn't bother to find out. Kicking off my blanket, I walked to the banister and looked down.
No one was about.
I looked at my alarm clock, wondering why so much light came through the downstairs window. Not a lot of light, but more than the middle of the night should have allowed.
7:43 a.m.
Shit. I was going to be late again. At least I wouldn't have to worry about packing clothes. I was still wearing the ones from the previous day. Oh wait. I'd have to throw them in a bag to change and carry to the store, then change back and put them on. Maybe a new set would be a better idea. I turned toward my dresser, but a growl stopped me mid-step.
I hadn't even smelled him.
Power washed over my skin and raised goose-bumps everywhere.
I turned slowly and dared to search the darkness. My wolf growled at me, angered by the unwanted intrusion. I ignored her for the moment, more concerned with finding the owner of the growl. I knew before seeing his boots that Mac was my guest once again. Two times in two days.
Not a good track record.
I kept my head down despite how much my wolf wanted to drive this intruder away from her den. Hunger motivated her most; fear motivated me. I stayed still.
"Know vat time it is?" Mac's voice grated against my nerves, the subtle German accent sounding odd in so deep a voice. It certainly fit with the earlier growl though. I nodded without looking up. He huffed. "How about the day?"
"Thursday," I said quietly, wishing my hands would cease their attempts to rip off my fingernails.
"Wrong."
That drew my gaze up. Mac growled, reminding me I shouldn't be meeting his eyes. At least they were blue. Normal blue. Not wolf blue. Rumor had it Mac was changed back before WWII as part of Nazi experiments to make their soldiers stronger. It had worked, but the Nazis hadn't been aware of the side-effects of becoming half wolf. It was hard to convince wolves to obey someone weaker than themselves.
"It's Saturday."
Shit.
"You didn't show up for vork. Vhy?"
I swallowed, suddenly feeling like a member of the underground railroad with Jews hiding under my floorboards.
"After vat happened Vednesday night, Alex grew vorried." Why was I not surprised the two strongest in the pack had felt that power struggle? "Chuck and Paul go at it again?"
I shook my head, still trying to find my voice. My wolf-sister started pacing, not liking the interrogation, but I shoved her back.
"You're lying."
Double shit. I forgot about that trick with wolf noses. Strong, sensitive wolves could quite literally smell a lie. Weaker wolves could too from my limited understanding, but not with the accuracy of someone like Mac.
"Chuck took offense to a comment I made, and Paul stepped in." I was not about to admit that Paul probably saved my neck. That implied a debt. Wolves took debts very seriously, especially life-debts. If Paul claimed it, I'd be expected to save his even at the cost of mine.
"And Chuck challenged Paul?"
"Not that I know of." How had I missed Thursday and Friday? Had I really been so tired that I slept two whole days?
"I see." Mac remained silent for so long I thought he had left. I even dared to look up, but there were his boots again. Nope. I wasn't alone yet. I was going to be late for work, at this rate. "So. Vhere have you been these two days?"
Something was up. Something big. Mac wasn't telling me something.
"I guess I slept through them," I said with a one-shoulder shrug. It galled me that I could smell my own fear responding to Mac's dominant presence. Prior to the other night, my only experience with dominants had been Neil, Paul, and Chuck. In fact, they were the only wolves I had ever interacted with outside of full moons. I still didn't trust Mac despite a dominant's instinct to protect the weaker wolves.
I heard Mac shift, but with usual wolf swiftness he was standing in front of me before I could react. He lifted my chin and turned my head from side to side. I stared at his jaw to avoid his critical gaze. He huffed before his hand moved to my shoulder and he stepped back to arm's length, giving me an up-down. Somehow, I didn't think I measured up.
"Don't you eat anyzing?" He didn't give me time to respond. "No matter. You'll hunt vith me today." The frustration in his tone was gone, replaced by a businesslike tone that smacked of Nazi war movies. I wondered briefly if the rumors about Mac were true. "Don't vorry about your shift today. It has been covered." He turned on a heel and walked toward the stairs. "Come. Change and meet me downstairs. You need breakfast before ve hunt."
His footsteps were heavy as he walked down the stairs. No doubt Chuck and Paul knew of the second's presence and wisely stayed out of the way. Even though Chuck rarely woke before noon on weekends, I would bet a week's pay he was awake now.
Mac's boots hitting the bottom of the steps spurred me into action. Thankfully, Mac's order of "change" only meant clothes. How I knew that, I couldn't explain, but I changed quickly and ran a brush through my hair before tying it up. Jeans were very comfortable after my slept-in slacks, and a knit sweater was far more roomy than my work blouse.
"Ready?" Mac's voice reached me from downstairs. He sounded a bit impatient, and I hurried to tie my shoes. After another minute of fighting the laces, I hurried down the stairs. Mac had my jacket waiting and headed out the door while I stuffed my arms through the sleeves. Good thing I wasn't going anywhere fancy.
"Come," Mac instructed in a crisp manner totally polar from the other night. "Ve'll talk in ze car."
I followed obediently, my wolf unusually quiet. Something wasn't right.