The Wolven (2 page)

For the most part, Fiona had been right. Over time, Shauna even figured out that she didn’t have to close her eyes to find that light. All she had to do was let her mind’s eye find it, focus on it, and bring her back to center. That certainly made things easier when she was walking through a crowded mall or heading toward a stoned, spike-haired couple.

Shauna’s mind had just latched on to that dot of light when a strange sound caught her attention and stopped her dead in her tracks.

It was an odd, low sound. So low that even with her sensitive ears she wondered how she’d heard it at all, with so many people talking in the shop, Lurnell’s voice booming above them all, noise pouring in from the street.

She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrated on the sound. It grew louder and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She’d never heard anything quite like it before.

Not quite a moan…

A distant wail…

No. More like an elongated…
howl.

The moment Shauna thought “howl,” her intuitive whisper became a shouting banshee. What she heard
was keening. Someone in the throes of such grief, their physical body couldn’t contain it.

It was the wail of death.

A plea to the universe.

A howl of mourning.

And it was coming from one of her weres…

S
o much blood.

Facial features distorted. Almost unrecognizable.

And the eyes—dull with death, yet imprinted with a final, indescribable emotion. A concoction of panic, fear, surprise, horror. The kind of look that might haunt a living man who’d seen it forever.

Danyon Stone was no stranger to death. Being alpha of the Wolven pack that lived along the East Bank in New Orleans, he’d witnessed the fallout from territorial battles that occasionally took place between his weres and those from other packs in surrounding parishes. When weres fought to the death over territory, or over a mate, the evidence from those fights generally looked the same. Clothing ripped to shreds, gouged flesh, puncture
wounds, and blood. Sometimes a lot of it. But this death was far from common.

The victim was Simon Filk, a young were from Danyon’s pack. Simon had been bright and loyal, eager to learn anything his leader was willing to teach him. Although Simon hadn’t known it, Danyon had been training him for a leadership position. He’d had big plans for him. Now, seeing the young were lying dead at the foot of the levee, Danyon wished he had told Simon.

In fact, he wished a lot of things right now. He wished he had someone around to explain what the hell he was looking at.

Heavy cable had been wound about Simon’s chest and feet, binding his arms to his sides and his ankles together. Another cable had been wrapped around his neck. His clothes were only tatters of cloth strewn about his body, and he was soaked in blood. What left Danyon gaping and boggled, however, was that Simon remained in were-state—except for his claws and fangs, all of which had been ripped from his body.

How in the hell is this possible?

Different breeds of werewolves carried certain traits, particularly when it came to the triggers that caused their transformation from human to werewolf and vice versa. Some breeds mutated at will, others only in the face of a full moon. The wolven were different in that their transformation usually occurred when they reached an intense emotional state, be it anger, fear, even sexual arousal. As a wolven matured and learned to control the range of his or her emotions, the mutation trigger became
more controllable, the transformation more a matter of will. The same controlling factors existed when it came to reverting back to human form, only reversed, the transformation occurring when the heightened emotion was abated, satiated, or controlled. The only time this didn’t apply was at the time of death. Without any exception that Danyon was aware of, the moment a wolven’s heart stopped beating, no matter the manner of death, he assumed human form. The fact that Simon was dead but remained in were-state was incomprehensible to him.

“Who would do such a horrible thing to Simon?” Andrea Doucet cried.

“Ain’t no way it was a
who,
girl,” Paul Mire, who was standing beside her, said. “It had to be a
what
to mess him up that bad. Look how that poor boy’s tore up. Thing I can’t figure, though, is how come he ain’t changed? Why’s that, Danyon, huh? Why’s Simon stuck like that? How come he didn’t change back?”

Wondering the same in spades, Danyon glanced over at his two weres. He had been so taken aback by Simon’s condition that he’d forgotten Andrea and Paul were even there. The two of them had stumbled across the body while walking home from Roosters, a small bar and grill where they both worked, waiting tables.

Danyon shook his head, indicating he had no answer. The truth was he feared if he opened his mouth right then, the anger roiling inside him would take charge and force a transformation that would demand vengeance. He had to keep a clear head. He might not have answers now, but he was determined to find them or die trying. Right
now, his weres were frightened, and, as their leader, he had to take charge and keep his emotions in check. If he didn’t, his entire pack might get skittish, and then he’d have an even bigger problem on his hands.

He turned to Andrea. Her eyes were swollen from crying, her square, chubby face blotchy. “I need you to go to the Quarter and find Andy Saville. You know who I’m talking about, right?”

“Man, anybody’s ever gone to Jumani’s Bar knows Andy,” Paul said, unfolding his arms. “That bugger’s gotta be the biggest bouncer in the state of Louisiana. All he’s gotta do is look sideways at a drunk, and they pee their pants they’re so scared.”

Sniffling, Andrea gave an adamant nod of agreement.

This wasn’t the first time Danyon had heard Andy’s reputation preceding him. He was indeed the largest were in the East Bank pack, and the only one Danyon trusted implicitly. No matter the situation, he could count on Andy to watch his back, keep his mouth shut, not ask questions, and follow orders to the letter. If ever those attributes were needed, it was now.

“Go to Jumani’s first,” Danyon said. “I don’t think Andy’s on shift until later, but he usually goes in early. If he isn’t there, Joe, the owner, will know where to find him. Tell Andy I need his SUV. Let him know where I am, but don’t say a word about Simon still being in were-state. Got that?”

“Y-Yes, but wh-what do I say if he asks me why you need his SUV?”

“He won’t, not if you say I’m the one asking for it. Tell him to bring a couple tarps, a hacksaw, a pair of wirecut—”

“No…wait…I can’t remember all of that.” Andrea wrung her hands. “I’m gonna forget something, I just know it!”

Danyon patted her arm gently. “Okay, never mind, it’s okay. Think you can remember just the tarp?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Perfect. All you have to do is tell Andy to bring two big tarps. Then tell—”

“B-But what a-about the other stuff? All the other things you wanted?” she asked.

“Just tell him I said that the job is messy, it’ll be dark, and metal is involved. If you can remember to tell him that, Andy will know what to bring. Can you do that?”

“Wait, you mean we’re gonna leave him here ’til dark?” Paul asked. He was pacing now, a short tight path between two trees. “We just gonna let the flies start collectin’ on his eyes and stuff?”

Andrea let out a loud sob and covered her face with her hands.

Danyon shot Paul a look.

“What? What’d I say?”

“Do you have to be so graphic?” Danyon aimed his chin at Andrea, hoping Paul caught the message.
She’s upset, numb-nuts, so cool it.

Evidently catching the gist of Danyon’s meaning, Paul looked down at his feet. “I was only askin’ is all,” he mumbled.

“No, we’re not going to leave him here until dark.” Danyon walked to the opposite side of the road, then pushed his way through the thicket until he found a patch heavy with bramble and foliage. “We’re going to leave him here, where no one can see his body.”

Andrea slowly slid her hands away from her face, peered in Danyon’s direction. “Is…will…are you sure Simon’s going to be okay in there?”

“Really,” Paul said. “Like there’s no snakes or rats or stuff like that in there, huh?”

“S-Snakes?” Andrea’s face drained of color.

“Shut up, Paul!” Danyon warned.

Paul’s mouth fell open in surprise. Then he snapped it shut, pouted, and folded his arms across his chest.

Ignoring him, Danyon walked back over to Andrea.

“Don’t worry, honey, Simon will be fine here. I promise.

Do you remember what you have to tell Andy?”

“Tarp—messy—dark—metal,” Andrea said, ticking the items off her fingers.

“Good girl.” Danyon gave her a reassuring smile.

“What about me?” Paul asked. “I can remember to tell Andy stuff.”

“You’re staying with me. I need help moving the body.”

“Whoa, no way!” Paul took two quick steps backward. “Andy’ll help you. W-Wait for Andy.”

Having already positioned himself at the head of the body, Danyon glared at him. “Simon’s been out here too long as it is. Somebody might drive or walk by here any
minute. He has to be moved now, so suck it up. Come over here and take hold of his feet.”

“You mean, like actually touch him? No
effin’
way!”

A low growl rumbled at the back of Danyon’s throat. He allowed it to rise in volume to make sure Paul heard it. “I said, take hold of his feet.”

Paul ran a shaking hand through his shoulder-length hair. “Yeah, o-okay, but…I—I don’t know if I can touch him. I—I mean, look at all that blood. What if…what if I, like, throw up or something? Maybe we—”

The sound of moving brush grabbed Danyon’s attention, and he held up a hand to silence Paul. He cocked an ear to the sound.

Someone…something…running toward them.

Danyon lifted his head, sniffed, caught the scent of panic—fury—a male were. Instantly, the muscles in his body began to ripple, burn—preparing for the change, instinctively engineered for fight or flight. For Danyon, though, it always meant fight. Flight simply wasn’t in an alpha’s DNA. No way anyone or anything was going to take them by surprise.

Andrea must have picked up on the sound, as well, because she let out a loud gasp, then cried out, “They’re coming!” She suddenly dropped into a squat and covered her head with her arms. “We’re going to die just like Simon! They’re coming to kill us, too!”

“Who? Where—what?” Paul spun about. First left, then right, then left again, trying to look everywhere at once. “Someone’s…coming? Where?”

Danyon sniffed the air again, wanting to get a handle on how quickly the runner was closing in.

“We’d better go then, right?” Paul said. He hurried over to Andrea and grabbed her by the arm. “Danyon, let’s go, okay? I don’t wanna…I mean, Simon was a good guy and everything, but I…I don’t wanna wind up like him. Let’s just go, okay?”

“Wait,” Danyon commanded. The runner was closing in fast, his scent stronger…much stronger now.

It was one of his weres.

No sooner did the realization strike Danyon than Ian Sykes thundered out of the brush. He was in mid-transformation from were to human, panting, gasping, until he pulled up short on two legs right in front of Danyon.

“She’s dead!” Ian cried, frantically searching Danyon’s face as if all the answers to life hid there. “They killed her—somebody killed her!”

Danyon felt a burning sensation in the center of his chest. It was the fire. The key to every wolven. Their light…their life force…their core. Just as the earth fed upon the fiery core that gave it life, they drank from the lava pool within each of them. It was sustenance that strengthened body, mind and spirit, and heightened all five senses. It bubbled higher and higher in Danyon’s chest.

Another death.

Another life snuffed out on his watch.

“Who?” Danyon asked, then immediately regretted asking the question. He already knew the answer. There
was only one person whose death would affect Ian this way.

“Nicole,” Ian said, his voice sharp with incredulity.

Andrea gasped. “Oh, no, not Nicky! Please…it can’t be her, Ian. She can’t be dead!” She put a hand to her mouth, sobbing uncontrollably now.

Ian nodded slowly, his eyes lost to a scene that belonged to another time and place. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “They…they found her body between two pilings off Barataria. Sh-she was a-all messed up…bad. Lotta blood.” His focus reconnected with Danyon. “She’s dead. She’s really dead.”

Ian Sykes and Nicole Bergeron had been a couple since they were pups. You never saw one without the other. They’d been inseparable.

“Why?” Ian asked. “Wh-Why would anyone want to hurt her? She was…” As Ian struggled to find the words to express his horror and the magnitude of his disbelief, he suddenly did a double-take and gawked. He’d spotted Simon.

Ian looked up at Danyon, back down at Simon, back to Danyon. “Just like N-Nicky…just l-like that. They killed her…just like that, Danyon.”

“Did she change back?” Paul asked quietly. As though fearing the answer, he crossed his arms and tucked a hand under each armpit. He rocked nervously from side to side. “Did she? Or…or did she, uh…stay stuck, like Simon?”

Ian covered his face with his hands, dropped to his knees. “She…she’s still were. I—I don’t understand it.
My girl’s still—” Sobbing, he dropped his hands, then threw his head back and let out a wail, then a mournful howl so loud and long, Danyon felt it in his soul.

At that moment it would have been easier for Danyon to climb Mount Everest with only one leg than to control the fury growing inside him. Two of his weres were dead. Both stripped of their claws and fangs, the two things that protected them, fed them.

His fury was certainly justifiable. But Danyon knew if he allowed it to manifest, he would be under its control. Raw vengeance would consume him. Even now, struggling to keep himself together, he wanted to rip through something, anything. If he allowed the fury to take over, he would lose clarity, the ability to wisely discern. For Simon and Nicole’s sake, for the safety of the entire pack, he couldn’t let that happen. Justice would never be served that way. In fact, it wasn’t being served now. Not by him standing here, getting angrier by the minute. He needed answers to questions that seemed too improbable to pose.

Who or what was powerful enough to hold down a were, restrain it, then tear out its claws and fangs?

Why on earth had the murderer chosen Nicole and Simon? Neither would have purposely harmed a soul.

There was only one person Danyon knew who might have some answers or at least be able to lead him in the right direction to find answers. August Gaudin.

August was the master elder of all the were packs in the South. Every alpha reported to August and was re
sponsible to him. He was a wise, fair leader, and everyone respected him immensely.

This situation was so out of the ordinary, though, that even August might not have answers. Whatever the case, Danyon had to find the elder right away and let him know about the deaths—and not only because it was his duty. He had to report and make himself accountable to August, before the rage took over.

Before he wound up being a murderer instead of finding one.