Chapter Eight
This was nuts. Darren was looking down the barrel of a revolver that was wielded by a man who planned to put him down with silver bullets. Because he thought Darren was a werewolf.
The really crazy part was that Darren sort of believed him.
Darren’s hand still itched where he had touched the bullet. He could hear Jack’s heart—and Miranda’s. Both thumping out quick beats, like drums before battle. The sound pounded in his ears and made his head ache.
He wanted to rip Jack’s heart out of his chest to make it stop. He had a feeling he could, if it wasn’t for the silver bullets in that gun—a gun Jack was pointing at Miranda. She had all but wrapped herself around Darren in an effort to protect him.
And Jack was threatening her.
Darren could smell the sweat and grease on Jack’s skin. The gunpowder on his hands. Jack had fired a gun recently. Probably at a range to keep up his skills, no matter what he said about being “retired”.
It didn’t matter how sharp Jack kept his skills. If he tried to shoot Darren—or if Darren tried to get the gun away from him—there was a chance Miranda would get hurt. Darren couldn’t risk that.
But for putting Miranda in danger, Jack was going to die.
The thought repeated in Darren’s head, his vision going red. He could see the blood flowing in Jack’s veins, the vital areas where the arteries were nearest the surface, and the bright red point in the center of his chest feeding it all. Darren would rip Jack apart, tear out his throat, and drape him over the Red Thread’s sign as a warning to anyone who dared to endanger the people Darren cared about.
Except Jack was ready for Darren. Armed with silver.
How could he have known?
“Miranda.” Jack’s voice had become deadly calm. “Step. Away.”
“No,” Miranda said.
She smelled like fear. Sugar-sweet and cloying. Darren much preferred her scent a few moments ago, when he was kissing her. Her scent had blossomed around her then, light and pure as honeysuckle.
Now, her body was trembling against his. God, it felt so good. But he didn’t want her afraid. He wanted her to tremble from his touch, to be as hungry for it as he was for hers. He wanted…her. Even more than he wanted to kill Jack.
Darren closed his eyes and took deep breaths, drinking in her scent, focusing on it. If he really was a werewolf, Miranda was in danger. In danger from him.
Shit, am I really considering this?
Jack wasn’t threatening Miranda. He was protecting her.
Darren thought about the thing in the grocery store. The giant bipedal wolf who had nearly torn his arm off before turning into a man.
The red overlay was gone from his vision when Darren opened his eyes, leaving the night bathed in the washed-out sodium glare of the streetlamps. Jack was still staring at him, muscles tensing, ready to fight, but his cardiovascular system was hidden behind his flesh and clothes.
Darren held out both hands in surrender. If he could get Miranda clear, maybe he could…jump over the building or something. Werewolves were fast, right? That’s what he’d seen in movies and read in books. He could dodge the bullet and run away.
“Do as he says.” Darren tried to step away.
Miranda pressed herself even closer to him. “Are you crazy?”
“Probably.” Why else would feeling her softness against him be able to turn him on even in this insane situation? “Then again, I seem to be in good company.”
Miranda had mentioned zombies. Jack not only believed in werewolves, he was prepared to fight them. And after what Darren had seen—what he was currently experiencing—he was starting to believe as well.
This wasn’t the result of being drugged. He couldn’t even try to convince himself it was some sort of psychotic break.
This was real. Darren had been bitten by a werewolf and now he was facing down a man who seemed to be a werewolf hunter.
“So, this is your similar profession?” Darren asked.
Jack chuckled darkly. “It wasn’t too much of a stretch.”
Darren let out a laugh. He let his arms fall back around Miranda’s shoulders, pulling her cool body closer to his as gently as he could. One last hug, and then he would push her away. Except he wasn’t sure how he could without hurting her.
“Miranda, I need you to let me go,” he said.
She glared up at him. “Not happening.”
Warmth suffused his body as she clung to him. She was so insistent on putting herself in danger for him. He closed his eyes and took another deep, steadying breath.
Her fear was diminishing, morphing into something smoother. Concern. He nuzzled the top of her head, letting her hair tickle his nose.
What would have happened if he’d worked up the nerve to ask her out before this? He had noticed her…noticing him. And she was impossible to ignore.
She wasn’t as thin as a stick and top-heavy like Scott seemed to prefer. She was shorter and rounder, with softness everywhere, matching her expressive eyes and warm smile.
Scott was right. Darren had been seriously crushing on Miranda for a long time. Even without realizing how he felt, he’d been keeping her to himself, worried that his more adventurous partner would swoop in and charm her away.
A growl rumbled up from his chest.
Don’t think about that.
He focused instead on Miranda in his arms, Miranda wrapped around him.
Okay, don’t think about that too much either.
Things were already starting to stir. He tried to find the razor’s edge—the balance between anger that there was a gun pointed at them, and the peace that holding Miranda and thinking about what she was willing to do for him brought.
“How did you do that?” Jack’s voice had lost some of the fire, but none of its sharpness.
When Darren opened his eyes, Jack was staring at them. He had lowered his gun a little.
“Do what?” Darren asked.
“Come back from the edge.” Jack shook his head. “I’ve never seen a werewolf back himself down from a change like that. I didn’t know it was possible.”
“I didn’t know werewolves were possible until about five minutes ago.” Darren managed a smile.
Jack snorted.
“What are you guys talking about?” Miranda relaxed her hold a little.
“You can step away from him.” Jack lowered his gun a little more. “I’m not going to shoot him. Yet.”
“This is insane,” Miranda said. “Werewolves aren’t real.”
Jack chuckled again. “You, of all people, are going to lecture us about what is and is not possible in this world?”
Miranda’s heartbeat spiked and she sucked in a breath. Darren didn’t understand what it meant, but it seemed to stop her argument.
“We have some things to talk about.” Jack gestured toward the door with his gun. “Werewolves first.”
Darren shook his head, but then opened the door to the restaurant and walked inside. Miranda trailed right after him, keeping herself close.
As he stepped over the threshold, one of the bells above the door started to chime again. The note was different than what he was used to. He glanced up to see the silver bell dancing frenetically above his head. The others were still.
“Neat trick,” he said. “Werewolf alarm?”
Jack shrugged, then reached up to still the bell as he followed them inside. “Some of my friends are…crafty. Keep moving. Through the kitchen and on your right.”
Miranda was keeping herself between them still. She looked over her shoulder as they walked through the kitchen and said, “Jack, could you please put away the gun?”
Jack shook his head. “Not yet. But you’re welcome to walk beside me if you’d like.”
She scowled, increasing her pace so she was right at Darren’s back. He crossed the small room, noting piles of iron skillets everywhere—more than it seemed the restaurant could possibly need. He stopped in front of the door Jack indicated. A small sign read, “Office”.
Jack started to lean past him, reaching for the handle. His gun was kept leveled at Darren’s stomach.
“Close quarters here,” Jack said. “Hard to miss. I wouldn’t try anything.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Darren said.
Jack had information Darren needed. He just had to figure out how to get it.
He wished he could get Miranda out of harm’s way so he could put his full attention on finding those answers. Then again, having her to focus on was helping Darren control the rage simmering within him.
The door swung open on a dimly lit room. Darren’s skin prickled as he stepped into it. Walking through the doorway was like pushing his body through air that felt substantial—almost like water.
Once he was in the room, his senses were muted. The glare of the lights dimmed, the harsh sounds of Miranda and Jack’s breathing mellowed, and even the anger building inside of Darren seemed to quiet in the space. He let out a sigh, finally realizing how much the world had changed since he was bitten. In the office, he almost felt normal.
Another bell rang above the door. He knew before checking that it would be silver. He made a note of the other bells. Gold, brass, and several in dark shades that made it hard to tell what they were made of. There was one that might be bamboo and another that was unmistakably bone.
A round wooden table sat in the center of the room with seven chairs surrounding it. Engravings were carved all over its surface. Darren didn’t recognize any of them. It looked like something he might see in a movie about wizards.
The rest of the room was even more interesting. Weapons of all descriptions hung on the walls. Axes, maces, swords, crossbows, rifles.
Then there was the really weird stuff. Boomerangs, staves carved into strange shapes, shields that had obviously seen more than one battle. Half a wall was taken up with wands made of different shades of wood. Some had wicked points, others were rounded or had stones attached to their ends.
“Next time I go to a Renaissance Festival, I’m stopping by here first,” Miranda said.
Her eyes were wide as she turned in a circle, taking everything in. Apparently, she wasn’t concerned for Darren’s safety anymore. Which was fair, since Jack wasn’t pointing his gun at either of them.
Jack headed to a cabinet filled with tiny drawers. It was sitting on top of a counter that held more stacks of iron skillets—the only reminder that they were still in a restaurant.
He pulled out a few speed loaders and set them on the table, then took another gun from the wall and set it next to them. The speed loaders were filled with shiny bullets that Darren was going to go ahead and assume were silver.
“Have a seat,” Jack said.
Darren glanced at Miranda. She nodded, then walked to the table. He pulled out her chair for her, then sat at her side.
Jack let out another snort, shaking his head. “A werewolf with manners. Now I’ve seen everything.”
He sat across from them and rested his gun on the table. He didn’t take his hand off the trigger.
He was staring at Darren. Really staring. There was an unmistakable challenge in Jack’s gaze that made the skin between Darren’s shoulder blades itch.
The anger started to build again. His knee bobbed under the table as his foot bounced up and down. Miranda reached over and put her hand on his thigh.
Not even the muting quality of the room could dull the waves of electricity that travelled up his leg from her touch. His dick hardened as he imagined spreading her out on the table and fucking her until she screamed his name. He’d have to slit Jack’s throat first…
Darren shook his head sharply, pushing the thought away.
That wasn’t right. That wasn’t what he wanted.
He focused on what was actually happening. Miranda’s touch was gentle, her hand cool. He took a deep breath and let it out, looking for that razor’s edge again.
“So, tell me about your night.” Jack leaned back in his chair.
“You’re the one with all the answers,” Darren said. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Jack smirked. “My knowledge in this case is broad. I’d like to hear your particular details.”
Miranda squeezed Darren’s leg. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as his pants became more restrictive. The distraction helped him stop thinking about leaping across the table and sinking his teeth into Jack’s throat.
“I hit a dog,” Darren said. “I got out of my car to help it and it bit me.”
“A dog.” Jack shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that. Where were you?”
“I was driving through the Old River District.”
“The Rath,” Jack murmured.
Miranda leaned forward. “Wait, R-A-T-H? As in a fairy Rath?”
“Pretty much,” Jack said.
“What’s a Rath?” Darren felt like they were talking in code.
“It’s a place where fairies live,” she said. “My dad used to tell me stories about them. Raths are like little pockets of Faerie—the place where fairies live. Supposedly, they can be reached through natural landmarks, like a mound of earth or a copse of trees or river bend.”
“Times have changed,” Jack said. “The fey have had to adapt to modern environments to prey on humans. The Old River District is full of Faerie pockets. That’s why we call it the Rath.”
Miranda let out a laugh. “You can’t seriously believe this.”
“Let Darren finish his story.” Jack turned his stony gaze back to Darren. “Then I’ll tell you what I believe.”
Darren shook his head. “I already told you what I know.”
“You gave me a half-assed answer.” Jack snorted. “‘Hit a dog’. I need details. Where was the sun in the sky? What did the creature look like? Where did it bite you? Why were you there? And most importantly, how the hell did you get away?”
“Just lucky, I guess,” Darren said.
Jack chuckled briefly. “Let me put it to you another way.” He lifted his gun slightly. “This is a foregone conclusion. In my mind, that thing already killed you. I’m just finishing the job. Giving you a merciful end.”
“Jack, please—” Miranda’s voice crackled. The sugary scent of fear spread from her like a cloud.
Darren stifled a growl, knowing it wouldn’t help his case any. He had to protect Miranda. Jack was after Darren. Maybe if he played his cards right, he could get her out of this nightmare.
Jack turned his attention to Miranda. “There’s more at stake than just this one life. If he dies here and now, how many people will be spared in the future?”
Miranda’s heartbeat skipped, then picked up. Whatever Jack was inferring, it had her terrified. Her pupils dilated and her fingers dug into Darren’s leg. He tried to tell his body that it wasn’t foreplay, but his dick wasn’t listening. He forced his attention to what Jack was saying in an effort to distract himself.
“There are two types of werewolves,” Jack said. “Those that run in packs and rogues. You get a pack in town, bodies pile up—in corners. They take out drifters, the homeless, or people on the outskirts of town. They find people in places where an animal taking them down and half-eating them is plausible.”
Jack paused for a moment, probably waiting for what he’d said to sink in. Darren didn’t want it to.
Werewolves eat people?
There was no way Darren would become a cannibal. He wouldn’t let it happen.
“And that’s the best case scenario,” Jack continued. “The ones in packs are more controlled. They clean up after themselves to avoid being caught or cluing humanity in to their existence. You go up against a pack and you’re dead. They never stay in one place too long, so you batten down the hatches and hang wolfsbane over your doors and try not to think about what they’re doing.”
He looked pointedly at Darren as he went on.
“Then there are rogues,” Jack said. “Solo wolves. Ones that were turned, but not brought into a pack. Those are the ones you have to watch out for. They can’t control themselves. They kill indiscriminately. They do worse. So I ask you again, Darren. What happened tonight?”
Darren glanced at Miranda. Her lips were parted, her eyes still wide. Her heart pounded in her chest. He could sense the blood flowing in her veins. He knew her skin would be soft under his touch. Under his claws.
He couldn’t let himself hurt her or anyone else. But he had to believe there was hope for him. If werewolves could control themselves when they were in packs, maybe…
What? I could find a pack to run with? Only kill certain people? Only eat certain people?
No. There had to be another way. Unfortunately, Jack was the only person Darren knew of who might have a chance of helping him find it. He had to convince Jack that he wasn’t a threat. The best way he knew to do that would be to cooperate.
“The sun had set maybe twenty minutes before.” Darren took a deep breath and let it out. “The thing that attacked me… It looked like a monster. Like a cross between a wolf and a bear, except it walked on two legs. And it had green eyes.”
“Green eyes surrounded by white,” Jack said.
Darren nodded. “It bit me on my left forearm. We were in an abandoned building. I managed to grab a chunk of wood and hit it in the head to get it off of me.”
“Wood?” Jack’s eyebrows lifted. “You hit a werewolf with a stick and it let you go?”
“I guess,” Darren said.
Jack was quiet for a moment. Then he raised his gun, and said, “Bullshit.”
Miranda leaned sideways and extended her free arm toward Jack as if she could ward off the bullets with her palm.
She can’t ward off bullets with her hand, can she?
It had been such a weird night…
“Stop it,” she said. “Even if Darren is a werewolf—and I’m not saying I believe he is—he’s answering your questions. He’s not threatening you.”
Jack shook his head. “I know you like him. Hell, I do, too. But he is dangerous. The change is only just starting in him.”
Jack turned back to Darren, and the look in his eyes was almost pitying.
“You angry?” Jack asked.
“You’re holding a gun on me and threatening to kill me,” Darren said. “Yeah, I’m angry.”
“I’m not talking about that kind of mad.” Jack leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. His voice rumbled through the room. “I’m talking about anger that burns in your bones. Rage flooding through your blood, curling your fists, making you want to do unspeakable things.”
Darren wanted to look away, to hide the guilt that was no doubt in his eyes. But he couldn’t. Because Jack was right.
Before being bitten, Darren would have strategized ways of disarming his foe. He wouldn’t have thought about disemboweling Jack and hanging him above the door to his restaurant.
Remembering the thought made Darren sick to his stomach—and made his skin prickle with anticipation at the same time.
“Once the full moon gets here, the man we knew will be gone,” Jack said. “It’s on me to stop the thing that you’re becoming. Any way I can.”
Darren couldn’t deny the urges he was feeling, but he was fighting them off. He wasn’t ready to give up.
There was something about the room helping him keep those impulses at bay. That meant there had to be ways he could control himself—keep himself from killing.
The way the conversation was going, Darren wasn’t sure he’d have a chance to find out. Jack didn’t seem eager to let Darren live to see that first full moon. And after what Jack had told them, Darren couldn’t even blame him.