It's a Wolf Thing

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This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Editors
Dee Carrell

Cover Artist
Mina Carter

This book was produced using
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.

Thunk.

Nine inches of lethally curved blade bit deep into the wooden wall of the room, split the knot in the plank, and stood there, vibrating from the force of the throw. Spencer Pena grunted in satisfaction and dropped his hand, but even a bull’s eye from a clear ten feet away did nothing to calm the storm within him.

Stepping inside, he slammed the door so hard a few of the photos danced cockeyed on their mounts. One fell, glass shattering over the floor. He kicked the edge of his bed with a curt growl that would have melted steel. Like everything else in this fucking cursed reality, his bed fought back. The kick knocked one of the legs off, and the damn thing fell on his foot, which served to piss him off even more.

With a snarl, he sank his claws into the skin of the mattress and flung it into the wall. It was a dingy piece of shit anyway. He’d have thrown the pillows as well if they hadn’t caught on his claws. With a roar of rage, he shredded them, filling the room with feathers. His tantrum halted when he caught sight of one of the fallen photos. The photo was and old dusty affair. In it, a younger version of himself stood next to another man, their arms around a young woman.

Him, Cain, and Dale. Friends since they were kids.

They were all smiling for the camera, the sort of smiles that said the wearer hadn’t a care in the world. Back then they hadn’t. Hadn’t had a fucking clue about the hell and shit storm coming for them. Hadn’t a clue what they’d end up doing after the end of the world. It was before the Descent. Before the Rapture. Before Armageddon. Before the world had plunged into full-on war for life. When his life went to shit, when everything went to shit.

Now Cain was dead, killed defending what was left of civilization, and Dale had taken up the fight in her brother’s place—fought at his side when everything in him wanted to lock her up somewhere safe.

If he tried that though, she’d hand him his balls on a plate.

“Should have been me…”

He snarled as he let loose another blade that sank into the base of the wall next to the broken frame. The problem, as usual, was Dale. Little Dale Foxx, one of his best friends and the sister of the other. She’d been the cutesy girl next door who’d worn bunches and braces, who he and Cain had teased until she’d put frogs in their beds, and who they’d protected from gossip in the locker rooms…until she’d caught wind of it and dealt with both them and those spreading rumors.

The girl who’d grown up and was all woman now.

The one he couldn’t have.

But
fuck
did he want her.

The image of her in that dress…those heels… The way she wore her hair. He wasn’t sure what bothered him most: that she was capable of looking that, well, damn stunning or the fact that she was going to give herself to some other guy. Who wasn’t
him
.

Why was she even going on a date? They had a mission tomorrow, so tonight was no time to be out tripping the light fucking fantastic, was it? She shouldn’t be dating… until
he
asked her. Not that he had, or had planned to any time soon. He couldn’t do that. At least not until he could wrap his head around the fuck up life had become.

He couldn’t be blamed that it’d taken him so long to come to terms with the world being so screwed up, could he? Could anyone? Up was down and down was hell anymore. Add to the mess, he was trying to protect his best friend’s baby sister from all manner of shit. The fact that he had feelings for her just ramped up the confusing shit storm in his brain. He’d never admit them, because that would make them real…and anything real had to be dealt with. There was no more maybe, imaginary, and make-believe in this world.

His skin greyed out as the first indications of his change settled over him. Spence swore and shoved a hand through his hair as he tried to get himself under control. He couldn’t afford for his rage to get the better of him. Not in the barracks. There were repercussions for werewolves who couldn’t keep their shit together, and all of them involved a chat with the General or her bulldog, Jon.

Spence took a deep breath and let it trickle out of his lungs. His eyes shifted around the room until he found a photo of him and Cain. It took the edge out of his anger.

“Take care of her for me Spence…”

Cain’s last words before he died on some nameless, god-forsaken, blood-soaked battlefield in the ass end of nowhere. Fuck. Take care of her. Was he mad? Of course he was. With the conflicting emotions running through him, he was fucking insane, and he had every right to be.

Not only had he promised to protect her, he…he was her friend. Just a friend. The word rolled through his mind like a curse. Fucking friend zoned when all he wanted to do was…

His heart rate kicked up again as images of what he wanted to do to Dale played through his mind. The imagery looped in an endless litany of eroticism he’d kept locked up tight in a small box in the bottom of his mind. It was all he could do. If he let them out of the box too much, he’d never be able to stand next to the woman on the battlefield and fight.

No, he wasn’t surprised. He’d kept it in, suppressed, and refused to let a hint of the turmoil locked away within show…until he’d seen her all dressed and prettied up. He’d always known she was a knockout. He’d lost count of the number of fights he’d had in the barracks when some ass made a comment about her. Even in her battle gear, she was something special. But in that red dress…she was something else. Spence dropped his head back and groaned as his cock punched to full mast again.

Great, just fucking great. He’d only just gotten the damn thing to go down.

He sank his clawed hand into the mattress and peeled it off the wall with a huff. As it dropped into place, he fell on it and propped himself on his elbows. He hadn’t realized just how frustrated—pent up—he was. With the General it was always battle, battle, battle. How that woman could carry on like a machine was beyond him. As he reached down to undo his boots, something caught his eye. He paused and redirected his focus to the foreign object.

“The fuck?”

He grabbed the broken frame and lifted it. There was something underneath, but he didn’t recall tucking anything back there. He turned it over to reveal a green key card. A frown on his face, he plucked it out and turned it over his fingers to examine it.

“The hell is going on?”

He glanced around, the sensation that he was being watched digging in between his shoulder blades. His claws and fangs erupted, out and ready. Some of the demons were good at infiltration. They’d lost an entire barrack last month.

His eyes washed black, and his senses climbed through the roof, but he couldn’t smell or hear anyone. No traces of foreign scents. He glanced back to the key. It had just…appeared there. There was just one group he knew of that was capable of manifesting stuff like this.

The Fae.

“Key card…” His eyes widened. “Oh.”

He’d heard the rumors of course, and they were interesting ones. It was some sort of weird morale initiative the General had arranged with the Fae, since not all of them were good as front-line fighters. They were adept with magic though, so instead of fighting they dealt with healing spells, fire spells…and matchmaking. As far as he knew, a green card was an indication they’d found you a match and an invitation in one go. His eyebrow winged up as he ran the key card through his fingers again.

He was paired up with someone for a night, huh? It’d certainly take his mind off Dale being with someone else. And who knew, maybe he’d find someone he could spend some time around more often. That was looking ahead a bit though.

He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. Why hadn’t he just asked her out? He’d have saved himself a wrecked room and shattered morale. But then…that could be why he got his own card, couldn’t it?

For a moment the image of Dale in her finery hung in his mind. It was obvious that she had no issues with going out and finding someone…that wasn’t him. He shrugged the thought off and yanked open a drawer to look for a clean shirt.

“Fuck.”

New plan.

He waded through the debris field of his room to the closet and pulled it open. A small trunk sat in a dusty corner, ignored for months. He crouched and flipped it open. It contained old belongings that had no place in this new life of war and survival. Belongings that came from a time when life seemed more complicated, but happy in its own way too. He had Cain, and they both had Dale. He’d never forget the day it all ended in a flash of brimstone and light. It was the day he’d asked Dale to meet him at the old oak. He’d planned to ask her out, but God and Lucifer had other designs.

Like the end of the world.

His hand paused for a moment over a garment-storage bag inside. His old formal wear. Lord, he wasn’t considering it…was he? It
was
the only clean thing he had. Hell, he didn’t even know if it would still fit him. A sigh escaped him as he shrugged and pulled it out to hold at full length.

“Here goes nothing.”

Fifteen minutes later, he was fully dressed and snappy enough to give any pre-apocalypse secret agent a run for his money. He bent down and used the busted mirror by the door to adjust his bow tie.

“Relax Spence. It’s just for fun.”

He flicked the corners of the tie and nodded; he looked as good as he was going to get at least. The confidence lasted all of the few seconds it took to step out of his room, and then he just felt stupid. He seldom went out not ready to spill blood. Not that now was any different. There were no less than three hidden blades on him, and a pull-out .45 was tucked in an ankle holster. Sure he was a Lycan, but the toys were always fun. They were also handy as fuck for zombies.

He couldn’t stop the shiver before it swept up his back.

He hated zombies.

The red dress. She’d worn the red dress.

Dale Foxx stood in front of the picture window of the hotel room the Fae key had led her to and looked out, but she wasn’t seeing the ruined buildings around her or the deserted street below. No point in looking at them; she’d only see random local patrols and the odd human scavenging in the ruins of a world long gone.

Instead she looked at her reflection, a mere ghost in the pane but enough for her to make out the important details. Dark hair piled up to expose the delicate curve of her neck. The makeup she rarely wore these days accentuated her features…not that her “date” would be looking at her face, not with the way she was poured into the dress.

It was tighter than it had been when she’d bought it all those years ago, intending to gather her courage and ask Spence to dinner. Or a movie. Anything, she hadn’t cared. The point wasn’t where they went, but to spend time with him and get him to see they could be more than friends. But she’d bottled it, and the red dress had sat in its cover since.

Wriggling, she tried to smooth it lower over her thighs. She’d packed on lean, toned muscle in the years between purchase and now, and the split up the left thigh revealed the trailing edge of an old scar. Would her date be bothered about scars?

She bit her lip. God, she hoped not. Six months on the front line, fighting day in and day out, had ensured her body looked like a road map. Wolves healed faster than most, which was the reason the General used Dale and her kind for shock troops, but even so, demon wounds scarred like a bitch. And don’t get her started on the damage those bastard angels could hand out.

There was a rap on the door, and she froze. Oh shit, he was here. She wasn’t ready. For a moment she stood in front of the window and gauged the leap to the ground. She shouldn’t be here. She’d intended to wear this dress for one man, and she doubted he was the one waiting at the door, no matter how much she wanted him to be.

Fuck it. She had to get real. After all the clues she’d dropped, the hints and flirty little comments, Spence hadn’t responded to a single one. She had to concede defeat and admit to herself that he wasn’t interested. So tonight was “Forget Spencer Pena: Phase One.” And it was time to put it into action.

Not moving from the window, she half-turned and called out. “Come in. It’s open.”

The door cracked and swung into the room. She held her breath as her date emerged, backlit from the hallway lights. She blinked. Not bad. Tall and broad. The way he moved indicated a frame packed with muscle and ready for action. Just the way she liked them. Or would like them, if bloody Spence wouldn’t keep scaring off all her potential dates.

As if thinking of him flicked a switch, something about the powerful figure tugged at her memory. She frowned. No way. It couldn’t be… Then he stepped into the light, and her heart stalled in recognition.

Spencer
.

But not like she’d ever seen him. The crisp edges of his black-and-white dinner suit contrasted sharply with his usual attire. His hair was well groomed, and he’d even gotten the razor out. The small bleed on the edge of his jawline, the one he always caught on the rare occasions he shaved, indicated as much. He moved to knock on the side of the door but halted, his expression as stunned as hers.

“Dale? You? Wait…what are you doing here?”

And just like Spence, he went from confused to pissed off in a heartbeat, his voice ringing with anger.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous this could have been? What if this had been a demon setup!?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” She took solace in anger, never far away with wolves and even easier for her to summon near a Mating Moon. Need and anger rode her in equal amounts as she glared right back at him. “What are you, my goddamned babysitter?”