11

  Thomas and Joy left her house before Zeke got up. They took the four-wheeler and headed out to see Trevor. They went earlier in the day than Trevor said to be there, and Thomas didn’t know how that was going to play out. To his surprise, there was nobody home when they got to the house. The blood stains in the driveway, and in the kitchen, had been cleaned up for the most part.

  The house seemed to look as if nothing had happened. At least he wouldn’t have to help Trevor with the mess. Thomas hadn’t been looking forward to helping clean up his own uncle’s remains. Even if it just meant burying him in a ditch, it still did not seem like a pleasant endeavor to Thomas.

  Joy was the one who noticed that the cars were all gone. That the entire situation felt wrong. Something about it just wasn’t right, but Joy began to freak out.

  “Thomas, I think Trevor is trying something,” she said. “What if he’s rethought what you guys talked about?”

  “He may very well have, or he may very well be up to something right now. It does feel odd here. Something just isn’t right,” Thomas replied.

  Without speaking they both went for the door, knowing that they’d walked into a trap. Thomas was first out the kitchen door, out into the driveway. He hit the gravel running just as a red convertible Ford Mustang was pulling in fast, aggressively. Several young men, all wearing ski masks jumped out of the car before it had entirely stopped. Thomas turned to the kitchen door and gave a gesture to let Joy know to stay inside and to hide.

  Thomas pulled the pistol out of his belt. He’d kept it tucked like Trevor had. He flipped the safety off and began shooting. Thomas didn’t have time to count the enemy before he started firing but soon noticed that there appeared to be five of them in total, one still at the wheel of the car. He saw that he wasn’t such a bad shot as he managed to drop one after only popping off a few rounds. A close range head shot, right through the eye left no question that Thomas had killed one. The back of the guy’s head exploded as the bullet exited, showering two others with bloody gore.

  Thomas didn’t know how many rounds his weapon held in the magazine. But he knew he wasn’t empty yet. Seeing one of their own gunned down only seemed to embolden the attackers. Thomas didn’t know if they werewolves from the pack that he’d yet to meet, or if they were human. All he knew is they came to kill him, that much was obvious. He was a bit freaked out that they hadn’t said anything and had simply rushed him. It made it much worse that he didn’t know what they wanted.

  The driver got out of the car, then the four of the remaining attackers walked slowly and deliberately toward Thomas. The driver then spoke, making Thomas acutely aware that he was still pointing his weapon, and trembling, as the barrel smoked. He’d just shot a man down, blown his brains right out. But the leader of the masked men’s voice snapped him right out of his trauma-induced trance.

  “Boy, what the fuck was that all about? You shot Larry,” the man said, a thick bravado in his voice. “Larry was my brother-in-law. Now, what would you go and do a thing like that for?”

  “You guys rolled up, ready to attack, wearing masks. What the fuck was I supposed to do?” Thomas found his confidence, remembering he had a weapon. He pointed the pistol at the driver’s chest.

  “We got hired to come here and do a job. We were just supposed to show up, rob the place, and tie up whoever was here, maybe rough ‘em up a little. Trevor never said nothin’ about any of us getting shot,” the man said. He was growing pissed off. He was practically fuming.

  Thomas understood. They were local rednecks. Probably meth addicts. Trevor had perhaps paid them to rob him, to test him. But Trevor had never expected him to shoot one of them. The fact that the pack leader wasn’t there made Thomas wary.

  “Look, I don’t know who told you what…but you come up here, where I live, acting like fools…well, you get shot. It’s as simple as that. Sorry about your friend, pal. But you guys need to gather him up and get the hell out of here,” Thomas said as he raised the pistol so that the barrel was at the same height as the man’s face.

  Thomas got no response, so he walked toward the group of men. He pressed the pistol directly into the cheek of the man who’d been driving. It seemed to get little response. Then a loud crack split the air. At first, Thomas had thought it was his own gun that had gone off, somehow backfiring and exploding in his hand. He quickly realized he’d been shot in the forearm by one of the other men and had immediately dropped his pistol.

  The man before him punched him in the face, knocking him to one knee. Thomas barely noticed, he clutched his right wrist in his left hand, searing pain shooting through his arm. The man leaned back to throw another punch, trying to put his entire weight into it, just as Thomas spotted his pistol lying in the gravel. He let the man hit him, smashing his jaw and filing his mouth with blood. But it gave him the moment he needed to recover his pistol with his left hand as he writhed on the ground.

  The man kicked Thomas in the ribs, sending him flying onto his back. The man experienced a split second of shock as he saw the gun in Thomas’s hand. He never heard the shot that took him right between the eyes. Another one bit the dust.

  A second bullet tore through Thomas. His shoulder exploded in agony. He thought that a supernova had gone off inside of his chest and upper arm. Thomas dove for cover, toward his uncle’s old beat-up Volkswagen bug. Another bullet whizzed past his head as he crouched down behind the body of the rusty antique car.

  He didn’t have time to see where the remaining three men went. Thomas just wanted to keep his head down and avoid more bullets. His shoulder hurt so bad that he forgot about his arm.

  “There’s three of us boy, and only one of you,” a voice yelled across the yard. It sounded like they had taken cover behind their own vehicle. “Throw down your weapon, come out, we’ll let you live.”

  Thomas laughed, though it brought tears to his eyes. He knew he wasn’t in the company of men who would keep their word. And then, to his delight, Thomas heard the sound of a grown man shrieking like a little girl on a roller coaster, followed immediately by the loud blam of a shotgun going off. The sound of a man’s guts splattering all over the Mustang was sickening, making Thomas nearly retch.

  There were a couple gunshots, from pistols, a few more shotgun blasts, then silence. Thomas waited a few seconds, then stood up. He saw that two of the three men were blown to pieces, chunks of them splattered everywhere. It was a bloody mess. One of the men writhed on the ground, moaning, trying to stuff some of his intestines back in. Then Thomas saw Joy’s arm on the ground, behind the Ford Mustang. He ran over to her, slipping in spilled guts and nearly falling.

  “Joy!” he yelled. “Joy!”

  Thomas was frantic. He no longer noticed the horrific pain in his shoulder and forearm. He screamed at the heavens, pleading with God. But nothing. Joy had taken a round right through the heart, and one right through the head. Thomas would have to face the fact that she was gone, and he’d have to face it fast. As he held her still warm body close to him, rocking back and forth and pleading with the universe to return her to life, to take him instead, he heard the sound of a revolver being cocked behind him.

  If Thomas had not dropped Joy’s body and flung himself on the ground immediately, he would have died. A bullet grazed the side of his skull as the dying redneck used the last of his strength to discharge his firearm. The skin on the side of Thomas’s head tore open, and a small gash was left in his skull. But he didn’t die. It pissed Thomas off that he was snapped back to reality, returned from that place he’d been when pleading for God, or the universe or whoever, to return Joy. It pissed him off so bad that he took his gun and emptied it into the face of the man who’d shot him, though that man wouldn’t have lived more than another minute in the shape Joy’s shotgun had left him. Another half dozen holes in his head didn’t help the man’s case, no matter what condition he was in. Nor did it make Thomas feel better.

  12

  Thomas took all the money he could find on the men who attacked him. He didn’t take the time to bury Joy. He only had one thing on his mind. Revenge. If it was the last thing he ever did, Thomas swore he’d get revenge on Trevor. After making sure to take their cash, a paltry four hundred and eight dollars between them, Thomas collected all the firearms and all the ammo at the scene. He put the shotgun in the trunk, then realized that Joy must’ve found it in the house.

  When looking through the house, Thomas found two hunting rifles, a few pistols, a couple hundred rounds of ammunition, several knives, and a machete. He took all the canned food and non-perishable items he could find, filled the trunk of the Mustang, and hit the road. Thomas had no idea where he was going to end up, only that he needed to get far away from the property. From the scene of all the horrible things that happened.

  He imagined a thousand ways in which he would kill Trevor. But as much as he hated the other werewolf, Thomas could still feel a part of Trevor. He knew the lines he’d been sold about how they were connected because they were of the same pack were indeed accurate. And he knew that Trevor could feel him back. Most of all, Thomas knew that Trevor was preparing for their showdown. It was almost like the older wolf was taunting him, teasing him. He could feel Trevor’s emotions, though he didn’t know the other’s thoughts. It was infuriating for Thomas, to know that he’d have to kill what was essentially a part of himself if he wanted to succeed.

  Thomas decided that he didn’t want to say goodbye to Joy. He didn’t want to break down and cry again. He didn’t want to let thoughts of her cloud his head, impair his judgment. No, Thomas needed to be as clear headed as possible. To even think of Joy was to invite distraction. And in the game he was playing distractions could be deadly. So he just refused to look at her body while loading the car. And he refused to even let his thoughts wander to her. After Trevor was dead, by Thomas’s own hand, then he could mourn his lost love. Until then, even thinking of her was a liability.

  With the car packed and ready, and money in his pocket, Thomas only had one thing left to do before he hit the road. He went inside, stripped down, and sat on the living room floor. Thomas closed his eyes, tried to relax, and let his mind directly address the pain he was feeling from the bullet wounds. He knew he couldn’t go to a hospital, and that the wounds weren’t immediately life-threatening, but eventually he would bleed out. That only left him with one option. To shift.

  Thomas closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He tried to feel that part of himself that had connected with Trevor. He concentrated on Trevor’s heartbeat, on his emotions. Thomas knew that he could pull the knowledge of how to do it from within his own mind because the whole pack was connected. And then he felt them. Three others. Wolves who had not been on the property since he’d arrived. But wolves who were part of the same pack nonetheless. Two women and a man.

  Thomas tried not to get lost in feeling the other werewolves, but it was as if they had become aware of him and were then focussing their own energy his way. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he found that all of time and space seemed to dissolve around him. He was in infinite darkness, but not alone. Thomas heard the howling of the pack, heard growls and snarls, yet somehow understood them. They wanted to meet him, to decide for themselves how things were going to play out with Trevor.

  And then Thomas felt a fire erupt in his veins. A searing heat that scorched through his whole body and left him unable to think of anything but the agony of it. And then he was shifting. Slowly, but it was working. He just hoped that it wasn’t all in his mind, that it was actually happening. He tried to open his eyes, but all he saw was darkness. But he felt his limbs contort, his jaw extend, his flesh tear open and sprout a thick, shaggy fur. And he heard a voice say, “There Thomas. Now you have it. Focus on the pain. Now, don’t try to wrestle with the beast within, it will always win. Instead, embrace it. For it is you, and you are it.”

  Thomas knew that he could control it. That he’d learned to shift. When he opened his eyes, he was in the living room, in his wolf form. His mind was not pushed to the back of his own experience as it had been before. He wasn’t sure if he was in total control, but he knew that either way the beast he’d become wasn’t. Some control was better than none, and he was learning. Thomas spent a few minutes getting used to his newfound ability to understand, and if not entirely control—at least have a say in, what he was doing. His confidence grew stronger, and he knew it was time to try to turn back into Thomas.

  Shifting back to human-form was not easy, and took more than twice as long for Thomas to figure out. He didn’t hear the disembodied voice of another wolf to help him. He didn’t have a clue how to start but eventually figured it out. It was more about relaxing than it was about repressing the animal side of him. Thomas took some time to master shifting back and forth, but after returning to human-form the first time he noticed that his bullet wounds had healed. Learning to change had already proven itself to be a life-saving ability.

  On his last shift into wolf-form before hitting the road, Thomas asked the pack where to meet them. He howled a long howl, though he didn’t know if they would hear him. But it was only a few seconds before he heard the reply, of all three at once. A group howl from the whole pack, “Florida,” it said.

  Thomas was happy to go south. He’d always liked the beach. His family had vacationed in Florida a few times, and he had fond memories. But he couldn’t help but wonder if he was walking into a trap. Maybe the other wolves were loyal to Trevor after all. But they had helped him learn to shift when he needed it to save his life. Thomas decided that it was worth a chance.

  And with that, he got dressed, got in the Mustang, and headed for the highway. Thomas wondered where Trevor was and wondered why he felt the other werewolf’s presence so strongly. He knew that Trevor was thinking about him as well. Thomas knew that Trevor would be aware that he’d dispatched the local goons in the ski masks. And he knew that Trevor would expect retaliation. It would be challenging for Thomas to seek out and destroy an individual who shared his every emotion, who felt everything he felt.

  He’d never been able to feel his uncle John the way he felt Trevor. And John had indeed been the pack Alpha. Perhaps it wasn’t just about that. John had died shortly after Thomas first turned. Maybe the bond took a while to develop, or perhaps it just gets stronger over time. A thousand thoughts flooded Thomas’s mind. He knew that he’d have to go to Florida to get any real answers. He just hoped that he’d know where to go and what to do when he got there. Hell, he didn’t even know what city to go to.

  And when he’d gone down the road less than a mile he felt a ripple of pain shudder through his entire torso. Or at least that is what he thought it was at first. Before he had time to process it. Before he realized that it was Trevor’s pain and not his own. The feeling, which had been overwhelming and all-consuming, subsided as fast as it came on. And then Thomas felt Trevor no more.

  13

  Trevor entered the cabin as quietly as he could. He heard the old man snoring from a mile away and knew it wouldn’t be difficult to take care of him. Thomas and Joy were busy dealing with the local meth addicts he’d sent to take care of them. Trevor had already killed three other werewolves to become the Alpha, he wasn’t going to take the chances of being challenged by the pack. Killing a fourth wasn’t an option. Killing three was already going to be more than Cole, Hannah, or Tanya would want to accept.

  Trevor didn’t bother to shift into wolf-form. He didn’t want to taste the old man’s blood. Zeke had been a blight on his family for years, and he wanted to enjoy ending the man with his own hands. It wouldn’t be the same to just bite the man’s throat out. No. He wanted to choke Zeke and stare into his eyes while he died. And afterward, he’d return to his own home to find Joy bound and gagged, and waiting for him. His heartbeat quickened as he thought of what he would do to her. Of all the pleasure he’d have before he tired of her and ate the flesh from her bones.

  Trevor got to Zeke’s bedroom and found the door was already open. There were empty beer cans all over the cabin, and it smelled of Coors. Trevor licked his lips as his palms grew sweaty with the anticipation of ending Zeke’s life. He’d dreamt of it time and time again, and now the moment was upon him. He would make sure to relish every moment of it.

  Trevor waited in the doorway, leaning on the door frame, just listening to Zeke snore. He let the anticipation build into a screaming crescendo, then stepped into the bedroom. As Trevor reached his hands out toward Zeke’s throat, desperate to clench them around it and choke the life from the man, Zeke popped his eyes open.

  “Gotcha!” the old green beret exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.

  The blanket Zeke was under lifted a few inches, and there was a deafening BLAM! Zeke had pulled both triggers of a sawed-off double barrel shotgun. The shot tore through the blanket and into Trevor’s chest at point blank range. Trevor flew back through the air, lifted off his feet by the blast, and hit the floor on his back. Where once rippling muscles had been there was only an eviscerated cavity of bone and gore. There was little left of Trevor’s torso, but Zeke could tell he was struggling to shift.

  “What did you think was going to happen? You piece of shit,” Zeke stood up, chuckling to himself. “And don’t bother shifting. It won’t help you. I packed these shells myself. Packed ‘em full of silver shot.”

  Trevor’s eyes went wide. He gasped for breath, grasping at the giant, gaping hole in his chest. Then his hands stopped, fell to his sides, and his eyes dulled. The Vietnam vet just stood over his kill, laughing and laughing. There was nobody to hear him, nobody reacted at all. Zeke thought that his daughter would have at least heard the shotgun blast.

 

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