Master of Wolves (16 page)

“What?”

Shaken, she looked up at him. “Some kind of magical creature attacked him. I almost hesitate to say it, but it looked like a werewolf.”

Arthur frowned and stroked his dark beard with an armored hand. “I've lived on Mageverse Earth for sixteen hundred years, but I've never seen anything like that.”

“Perhaps it's some kind of alien demon, like Geirolf.”

Gawain stepped back out into the hall, having finished his search of a nearby room. His expression was grim. “Well, whatever it was, I think it took the Black Grail. There's a pedestal like the one you described in one of the rooms ahead, but there's nothing on it.”

Arthur growled a quiet curse. He and Gwen followed Gawain back into the room he'd just emerged from.

Just as Gawain said, there was the red stone pedestal she'd seen in her dream, but it was indeed empty. The golden cup was gone.

With her Maja senses, Gwen detected the lingering black glitter of death magic. “Somebody gated out of here not fifteen minutes ago,” she told Arthur, moving toward the altar.

He cursed. “What do you want to bet it was the same person who sent you that vision?”

She turned toward him as everything became far too clear. “They used us as a distraction. While we were fighting the cultists, they gated in and took the grail.”

“Can you track them?”

“I can try.” But when she sent a magical probe into the lingering energy from the gate, it led nowhere. The vampire that had created it had done a very good job of erasing his tracks. Silently, Gwen caught Arthur's gaze and shook her head.

“Perfect,” he snarled, throwing up his hands. “Just perfect!”

“Don't give up just yet.” Narrow-eyed, she studied the fading glitter. “Our friend may have outsmarted himself.”

A slow smile spread across her husband's face. “What do you have in mind?”

“He gave me a link with the grail to lure us here. Maybe I can use it.”

Gawain shook his head. “He'll block your probes.”

“Oh, yes.” She gave them all a feral smile. “And death magic is very strong. Luckily it doesn't have a lot of staying power. I'll wager that if I pour enough Mageverse magic at it, it'll pop like a balloon.”

A wolfish grin spread over Arthur's face. “We'll see how our furry friend likes having a thousand or so of Avalon's best leaping down his throat.”

“Unfortunately, a spell like that is going to take time, and dawn is much too close,” she told him. “I won't have time to work it before the sun's radiation begins blocking my magic.”

A prickle of Mageverse fire spread over her skin, warring with the building weight of the sun as it began to beat on the earth overhead. Gwen looked up. “Our people are beginning to gate out. We'd better go.”

Arthur frowned, looking unhappy. “At least the Geirolf vampires will have to den up, too. I only hope they don't get to the thief before we do.”

 

As the afternoon
sunlight streamed over downtown Clarkston, Faith and Jim drove into town. The convertible's top was firmly up, and she wore a ball cap and sunglasses with her red hair down around her shoulders instead of tied up in its usual bun. Even so, her instincts howled as they cruised past the Clarkston police department. Dread clenched her belly in a cold fist, just as it had since she'd woken that morning.

Her dreams had been bloody and confused—nightmares of Reynolds jerking her off her feet and ripping into her with claws and teeth. After fidgeting her way through the afternoon, all she wanted now was to get it over with.

Jim seemed to share her tension. He'd been quiet all morning, but it reminded her of the silence of a volcano on the verge of eruption.

They drove up and down Main Street until they found a parking place a block from the station. A convenient alley stood nearby with a dumpster that looked as if it would provide good cover for a shape-shift. Turning off the engine, Jim studied her, his pale gaze searching. “You sure you're up to this?”

Faith shrugged, despite the sickly fist kneading her belly. “Doesn't matter whether I am or not. It's got to be done.”

“No, actually, it doesn't. I could play decoy just as well.”

“Not when it comes to pheromone production. He'd be expecting a fight the minute he got a whiff of you. With me…” She shrugged. “Hopefully his big head won't be doing the thinking.”

“That's what worries me.” A muscle flexed in Jim's jaw.

Despite her own tension, something about his obvious worry made Faith feel oddly warmed. “Hey, you'll be right there, right? Knowing you, you're not going to let him anywhere close.”

Some of the worry lifted from his eyes, replaced by pleasure at her confidence in him. He smiled. “You've got that right.”

“Damn straight.” She reached for the door and swung it open. “Now let's go do this thing.”

 

Reynolds watched as
Ayers stared out the window at the afternoon sunlight. “So you think it'll be tonight?”

He shrugged. “With Celestine, you never know. But I'd think so. She wants that army of vampires pretty badly, so I'd imagine she'll trot the grail out for you boys as soon as she can get her hands on a sacrifice to power the spell.”

A speculative light flared in Ayers's eyes. “That brings up an interesting point. The grail won't work on you, will it?”

“Magic in general doesn't seem to do much to me, other than my own. So I guess not.”

Ayers leaned a hip on his desk. “So what are you going to do once we're all vampires?” His eyes glinted with a hint of malice. “Sounds like you'll be outnumbered.”

Reynolds stiffened. “I can take care of myself, Chief.” He bared his teeth. “Believe me.”

The chief looked at him for a long, cool moment. Then he smiled easily. “Of course.”

 

Bastard!

Reynolds stormed from the building and across the parking lot toward his patrol car. With every stride, he found himself struggling with an unaccustomed emotion: worry.

Once the entire department had vampire powers, where would that leave him? Over the past couple of months, he'd grown to enjoy the authority he wielded as Celestine's right-hand man. Just as heady was the physical intimidation he could command as a werewolf.

But once all the other cops were vampires, much of that advantage would be gone. He…

Sex!

Reynolds stopped dead as the scent filled his nose. Blinking in surprise, he drew in a deep, astonished breath. The smell of raw eroticism surrounded him, so intense and overwhelming his dick instantly hardened.

What the hell was that? Cautiously he inhaled again, but the smell hadn't faded. There was something familiar about it, a scent he knew…

Weston.

He sniffed again, surprised. She'd been hanging around his police car. Just recently, too. But why? What the fuck was she up to?

And when had she turned into sex on the hoof?

Unable to resist the temptation, he dropped to one knee, the better to breathe in her deliciously tempting scent. He'd always thought she was reasonably hot, but this was something else again. It was as if somebody had dipped her in raw sex.

He wanted her. Even Celestine had never turned him on like this, even with her all magic and perverse sexuality.

Reynolds took a deeper sniff, drinking in the impossibly tempting aroma. He frowned, noticing a strong canine overlay.

Weston must be in dog form, he realized. Which made sense, considering the entire department was gunning for her. Becoming a mutt would make a very effective disguise. Plus, he'd never be able to catch her on two legs, not without assuming werewolf form. Something he damned well wasn't going to do at three in the afternoon with half of Clarkston looking on. Celestine would kill him.

Reynolds licked his lips as a dark, tempting idea crossed his consciousness. Why not assume a canine form of his own? He'd have a lot better chance of catching her.

And when he caught her…

What would it be like doing it as a dog?

Damn, now there was a kinky thought. But tempting, very tempting. And after two months of being at Celestine's beck and call, it would be nice to be on top for once.

Reynolds glanced around cautiously, decided no one was watching, and called the magic, picturing the biggest, blackest rottweiler he could imagine.

A moment later, he put his muzzle to the pavement and started following Weston's scent trail.

 

Faith popped her
Irish setter head around the corner of the police department just in time to see the enormous rottie trot from behind Reynolds's car. It was all she could do to suppress a yip of excitement.

The bastard had swallowed the bait hook, line, and sinker.

And there he came, nose to her scent trail, trotting across the parking lot like God's gift to
Animal Planet
.

All Faith had to do was lead him to Jim.

She turned tail and loped off, making straight for the Clarkston Fire Department, a big brick building that stood a block away. Where Jim waited, all two-hundred plus lupine pounds of him.

A menacing growl rumbled in the air. She threw a quick look back over her shoulder to see the rottweiler running in her wake, his massive jaws open.

Shit. Wouldn't do to let him catch her. With a yelp, she took off running, hoping she looked suitably panicked.

Her sensitive ears picked up Reynolds's triumphant growl as he shot in pursuit.

Oh, yeah. They had the bastard now.

Stretching out her long canine body, Faith flung herself into a dead run, dashing across the parking lot for the fire department building.

Reynolds's deep-throated bay of excitement echoed as he charged in her wake.

That's right, you son of a bitch
, she thought grimly.
Come and get it.

Reynolds galloped after
Weston, almost drunk on the smell of sex and the trace of fear floating in her wake. He wasn't even running all out.

He wanted to enjoy the chase.

His lips pulled back from his teeth in anticipation. She'd fight him—Weston wasn't the type to give in. But he was bigger, and he'd been a werewolf longer. In the end, she wouldn't have a prayer.

After he had his fun, he'd hand her over to Celestine. Sacrificing the little bitch on top of acquiring the grail would make his mistress a very happy vampire. She'd no doubt reward him well.

He lengthened his stride, impatient to catch his tempting prey. The red flag of her Irish setter tail disappeared around the corner of the firehouse, and Reynolds sprinted after her.

The wind shifted, carrying a wild, feral scent. He lifted his head in alarm, but before he could even break stride, something big and black rammed into his side. It was like being hit by the Space Shuttle, a bone-grating impact that sent him tumbling in yipping astonishment.

The thing rolled with him, snarling like a chain saw, fangs snapping for his throat.
Shit
! Reynolds twisted, barely managing to kick free before the beast could get a good grip.
The other werewolf!

As Reynolds scrambled back, he saw that a wolf was exactly what his foe was. The bastard was the biggest, blackest beast Reynolds had ever seen, easily two hundred pounds of hard muscle, with a mouthful of teeth that would put a crocodile's to shame. Reynolds hadn't even known they could assume wolf form; he'd only stumbled on the dog thing by accident.

He sure as hell didn't have time to figure it out now.

Jaws clamped down on his foreleg. With a howl of pain, he lunged for the nearest target—the wolf's left ear. His teeth clamped down. Blood flooded his mouth, so hot with magic it was like drinking white lightning.

Instincts he hadn't even known he had suddenly kicked in. With a baying howl, he went for the werewolf's throat.

 

Faith was no
stranger to bloody fights, but she'd never seen anything like the way Jim and Reynolds ripped at one another. It was one thing to exchange punches or even knife swipes, but tearing at one another with claws and teeth…

It wasn't human, a voice in the back of her mind protested.
They
weren't human.

One endless heartbeat later, the two separated with a crimson splatter and began to circle. Blood dripped from Jim's wolf muzzle and one torn ear, while Reynolds limped on a wounded foreleg.

The rogue charged Jim, growling savagely. Her lover dodged, snaked his head forward, and sank his teeth into Reynolds's thick neck. The rottweiler didn't stop, plowing into him and forcing him over onto his back. Teeth snapped like castanets, punctuating snarls and growls.

And what the fuck was she doing, standing around doing nothing? So what if she was scared? Jim needed her.

Taking a deep breath, Faith called her magic, changed from Irish setter to wolf, and charged in. Without letting herself stop to think, she sank her teeth into Reynolds's thickly muscled shoulder. The taste of fur, dog, and magic flooded her mouth. Blood followed in a burning wave, the taste both revolting and so shockingly seductive, her first impulse was to let go. Conscious of Jim's danger, she bit deeper instead.

Faith heard a yip. Something clamped down on her cheek. She jerked away from the fiery pain, yelping as flesh tore. Her Burning Moon temper exploded, and she lunged for Reynolds, snapping at any part of him she could reach. He reared out of range of her teeth, then drove his weight against her chest, rolling her over on her back. Fangs clamped into her throat, cutting off her breath.

Gasping, Faith struggled, trying to kick her way free. She heard Jim's deep-throated roar of rage. Teeth snapped. Snarls. Blood splattered across her face. Reynolds yelped and let go. She scrambled clear, panting.

Jim had his fangs buried in Reynolds's muzzle as the rottie jerked back and forth, trying to tear away from him. Yeah! They had him! She plunged in and clamped her jaws into the rogue's haunch.

With a howl, her foe heaved his body upward, jerking away in a shower of blood. He whirled and ran. Baying like all the hounds of hell, Jim shot after him. Faith raced to catch up.

Reynolds flew across the road, his bobbed tail tucked against his butt as he ran in desperate bounds. Jim charged after him.

Right into the path of a pickup truck. Faith screamed a warning, but the words emerged as a strangled howl.

She saw Jim's head turn, as he registered the danger and threw himself into a desperate leap…too late. The truck's bumper clipped his rear haunch, spinning his body through the air. He hit the curb and flipped across the sidewalk, then tumbled down the embankment beyond it. The truck's brakes screeched.

Frantic, terrified, Faith shot across the street after him, dodging around the truck and narrowly avoiding an on-coming Honda. Leaping the sidewalk, she galloped down the embankment.

If he was hurt too badly to Change, he'd die.

A still, black-furred body lay in a heap at the bottom of the embankment, smeared with blood, barely breathing. His eyes were closed. Faith's heart crammed its way into her throat as she skidded to his side. Without considering who might be watching—not even caring—she Changed to human form.

“Jim!” Half afraid to touch him, she laid a shaking hand on his bloodied shoulder. He didn't move. “Jim, wake up! Please!”

Nothing.

“Jim!”

Finally, a whimper. The bloody shoulder under her hand twitched. Silver eyes opened, dazed.

“Jim, Change!” Faith stroked his matted fur. She felt sick, her eyes dry and burning. “Please! You've got to Change!”

He blinked and whined softly, the sound tight with pain.

Desperate, she blinked away the tears and hardened her tone to an authoritative snap. “Jim London, you shift right this minute!” Was it too late?

He closed his eyes and shuddered with effort. Magic boiled around him, shimmering to her werewolf senses.

Then he was blessedly human again, whole and unharmed in his jeans and T-shirt. Silver eyes opened and looked up at her, still a little dazed.

Faith sagged in relief. “Thank God!” She found herself stroking his handsome, unmarked face. “Didn't your mother teach you to look both ways before you cross the street?”

Jim sat up with a groan, rubbing both hands over his eyes like a man waking up from a nightmare. “Yeah, that was stupid. I was so focused on catching that bastard. He
hurt
you.”

“Well, that truck hurt you.” She gave him a light slap across one brawny shoulder, having recovered enough to get pissed off. “You scared the crap out of me, London.”

To her bemused surprise, he actually grinned, pleased. “Yeah?”

Disgusted, she rose to her feet. “You're an idiot.”

He stood. Faith automatically reached to steady him, but he stretched his big body, obviously none the worse for his adventure. “I know. I guess the bastard got away.”

“Well, I was a little focused on making sure you weren't bumper pâte.” They started up the hill together. Faith felt almost giddy in her relief.

“Where's the wolf?”

Startled, they looked up. A thin, elderly black man stood on the bank above them, his long face confused. “What?” Faith asked.

“I could have sworn I hit a wolf.” He scanned the length of the bank in concern, gnarled fists braced on his hips. “Didn't even think there was any in these parts.”

Faith glanced at Jim, then back at the bewildered driver. “In the middle of Clarkston? I don't think so.”

The driver scratched his head. “Guess not. Thought maybe it had escaped from a zoo or something. I could have sworn…” Shaking his head, he turned and trudged back up the embankment, his red checkered shirt cheery against the blue sky.

“Let's get the hell out of here,” Jim murmured to Faith.

Together, they scrambled up the embankment. As they reached the sidewalk, Faith recognized the city's animal control officer standing in front of the fire department. She tensed. If he recognized her…Luckily, she was wearing her hair down, something she never did on duty. That, combined with her blue jeans and T-shirt, provided something of a disguise from people used to seeing her in uniform. At least from a distance. She hoped.

“Did you see any stray dogs around here?” he called, showing no sign of recognition. “I got a report three of them were fighting out in front of the department.”

Jim jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction Reynolds had gone. “I think I saw one run that way.”

The officer sighed and started back toward the police department and his animal control truck. A gust of wind carried his scent into her face. It was free of magical rot. “He's probably long gone, but I'd better take a look.”

Afraid he'd recognize her voice, Faith made no answer as she and Jim hurried up the sidewalk toward his car.

It was the longest block she'd ever walked.

With a sense of relief, she closed the car door and fell back into the Jag's glove-soft leather seat. “I'd love to see Reynolds talk his way out of that one.”

Jim grunted. “He'd probably just eat the poor guy.”

“Good point. Let's hope our friend back there isn't too good at his job.”

But as Jim waited for an opening in the afternoon Clarkston traffic, Faith's giddy mood quickly darkened.

He'd almost gotten killed.

The memory of Jim carooming off that bumper kept running through Faith's mind like a news clip on CNN, an endless loop of terror and disaster that made her stomach knot all over again. When she reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, her hand shook.

Involuntarily, Faith glanced over at him. He met her gaze, his eyes brooding and hot.

“I'm sorry,” he said abruptly. “I almost got you killed. I should have told you to stay out of it, but I was so intent on killing that bastard.”

Indignation punctured her funk. “I hope you realize by now that I'm not going to just stand back and wring my hands when you're fighting for your life. What do I look like, the heroine of some sixties cop show? Give me a break.”

“Forgot who I was talking to.” His lips quirked. “Nobody could ever mistake you for a coward.”

Faith frowned, remembering the taste of Reynolds's blood in her mouth. “Though having said that, I've got to admit there's a big difference between throwing punches and ripping into somebody with your teeth. It's really…” She broke off, unable to put it into words.

“Primal.”

“Not to mention a little disgusting. And when he had me by the throat…” She shook her head. “I thought I was scared when he tried to kill me the first time. This was actually worse.”

“It's because you didn't have hands.” His voice seemed to rumble, deep and dark. “You had to do your fighting with your teeth, which is a hell of a lot more intimate.”

“Yeah, that's it exactly. I felt like an animal.” She looked over at him and caught her breath. For an instant, their gazes met. His was hot with male awareness. Inhaling in surprise, she scented the delicious musk of his desire.

In a heated flash, all her leftover adrenalin and fear found a new focus. Faith swallowed and looked away, battling the effect. After what they'd just been through, neither of them should be in the mood for sex.

Except it was precisely because of the close call with death that they felt so turned on.

Faith was familiar with the effect—she'd experienced it before. She and Ron once had the best sex of their marriage after a daylong firefight with a barricaded subject. But even then she hadn't felt anything like this sudden, clawing lust.

“During a fight, you're more in touch with your body.” Jim's voice dropped even more, taking on a dark velvet note of seduction. “The scent of things, the taste of things. It…affects you. Strongly.”

Unable to resist, she looked at him just as he darted a hungry look at her breasts. Her nipples tightened behind the scratchy lace of her bra. “I noticed.”

Involuntarily, her gaze dropped to his lap. The muscles of his thighs flexed under the fabric of his pants. He had an erection. “I want you.” The words were blunt, a deep male rumble of demand.

“I noticed that, too.” Faith dragged her eyes away. “But in the middle of Clarkston at four o'clock in the afternoon is not the best place to jump each other.”

“Then we'll just have to find someplace else to do it.” He hit the gas.

She clenched her teeth as the Jag responded with a primal roar that seemed to echo her own need.
I can hang on until we get home.

Despite his obvious lust, Jim drove with ruthless control, his big hands steady on the wheel, his gaze locked on the road as he maneuvered the powerful sports car through traffic.

His lap drew Faith's fascinated gaze like a magnet. His cock pressed against the fly of his jeans, so hard and thick she ached to free it.

“Where can we pull over?”

“What?” Startled, she lifted her gaze to his face.

“I'm not going to make it home. Where?”

“Not here, for God's sake! The cops'll be all over us.”

His eyes glittered. “Then you'd better tell me somewhere close.”

Faith could smell her own desire, just as rich with musk as his. “Make a left.”

He obeyed, turning the convertible toward the outskirts of town a couple of blocks away.

She licked her lips and tried for a joke. “Those Burning Moon pheromones are a bitch.”

“Yeah, but it's not just pheromones. I have to touch you.” His voice dropped to a low, rumbling register. “He
hurt
you, dammit.”

Now, that she could understand. When she'd seen him go airborne off the bumper of that truck, she'd felt the impact in her own heart. It made no sense—she barely knew him—and yet the reaction was too powerful to deny.