Pack, page 6
“We don’t even know who we’re fighting.” Jules says factually as the woman produces a set of keys from my handbag and opens the front door to the apartment for Jules and I.
“Doesn’t matter. Paris is what matters.”
“I agree but Bg you’re in no condition to fight. You can barely stand.” Jules leads my dragging feet into the living room and I am placed on the sofa. The woman places my bag down beside me and looks up at me. Assessing the side of my head.
“Let me get you something for that.” She states and heads off further into Paris’s apartment. How does she know where to go in Paris’s apartment? Has she been here before? I think I should ask Jules but as I try turning my head to watch her go but there’s too much pain in the movement and I wince instead, forgetting about whatever was bugging me.
“Don’t underestimate me.” I growl at Jules. “Everybody fucking does. Everyone except Paris.”
“Oh-kay.” Jules mutters producing his own cell phone. “Can see that knock on the side of your head has made you want to be both sensible and polite.”
“Fuck polite. Paris is missing. This is fucking war.” I growl back at Jules as he starts talking into the phone. Presumably to Addison, updating him on the situation.
“They don’t know it yet whoever the fuck they are, but you do not steal a werewolf. An alpha werewolf from New York City and get away with it. That shit is not on.”
“Yeah, she’s full of voice and not following any instructions I give her.” Addison says glancing at me as I stick my tongue out at him. “Yeah, she thinks she’s bad. Alright, we’ll sit tight till you get here.”
“Addison?”
“Better.” Julian replies sighing and sitting down on the sofa next to me. “We got ourselves a slaughterhouse.”
I hold his look. The silence hangs between us. A slaughterhouse in werewolf world, means Addison undoubtedly is the one putting together a posse of Berserker werewolves. Werewolves who relish and specialise in rampaging and devastating their opposition with their bare claws. When allowed. When unleashed. I wasn’t aware the Manhattan Maen had any such werewolves amongst them. But I know another pack who have such werewolves at their disposal. Mine.
“Good.” I said looking over at him and putting a hand to the side of my head. “Call the Breukelen they will be able to help with that.”
11
The werewolf is a creature to of myth, horror and sometimes, intrigue. Well that’s what most nons think. But mostly when humans think of werewolves or have us portrayed in movies, it as nothing more than a monster. Something to hate and fear.
A slaughterhouse of werewolves is a posse of Berserker wolves who fill that cliché thoroughly. They are armed to their very fanged teeth with all the darkness that nons fear and for good reason. They’re blood lust, is rage and that rage is used to their advantage. These are the werewolves who do not play nicely with others. They are not all that socially integrated in our world or the human one. They struggle with the concept of hiding who they are. Of being controlled and pushing that baser beast element in them, down.
They refuse to suffocate their werewolf urges and tendencies. They are the werewolves of legend and they are kept an extremely tight leash. They are a secret weapon for our use.
But what good is a weapon if you don’t know where to aim it? I’m downing pain killer tablets like candy and still wincing. These tablets aren’t doing much or aren’t strong enough for what I need. I haven’t shape shifted. Correction, I haven’t been able to shape shift.
Between the pain and fretting over what has become of Paris, I just can’t get it together enough to make the shift happen. So human medicine is all I’ve got for now to try and get me through the pain that is present in my body from the surprise attack, that saw Paris kidnapped in front of me.
We are nowhere on what has just happened. Other than knowing Paris was kidnapped in front of me by two people in a white van. Paris’s apartment has become command central. He’d have fucking hated that. I’ve got to get Addison to move all the commotion to somewhere else. I don’t want my space with Paris’s scent throughout it, ruined by this. Tainted by this memory. We try to keep his home separate to the world of the pack. It’s like having a sanctuary, a place for time out from pack life.
“Vaughn is working on the slaughterhouse, it’s going to take time.” Wiatt says to Addison, nearby. “There’s some issue apparently.”
Addison nodded his head. “We have time.”
Poor Wiatt. I’ve never seen him look so angry and frustrated. His big brother is missing; he’s a werewolf, an alpha werewolf no less. Who is used to fighting and being in the fight and here he is, fucking standing still. Being relegated to being nothing more than a human in this situation. We all are.
It’s made the atmosphere in the apartment incredibly tense. We’re all used to doing stuff. In taking action and fast. Dealing with the situation at hand swiftly, justly. In werewolf form or by ourselves, with our pack, as werewolves.
And here, now, for all the abilities of the werewolf at our disposal, they are essentially, useless. We don’t know who took him or why. This attack was very much thought out like a human would think it out. It wasn’t done on our terms. In our manner. They dragged him into a van. How does a werewolf track a fucking van? Shape shift and act like a blood hound? Would that even work?
Addison is the best tracker here amongst the Maen. If he thought he could track a van he’d be outside doing just that. There isn’t much he wouldn’t do for Paris. They’re best friends who are as close as brothers.
“Bohm is with Damon now, he’s going to see if he can hack into the city traffic feed and see if they can pick up the trail of the van from traffic camera surveillance around the neighbourhood.” My ears pick up bits of conversation around me.
“And if they can’t get in or see the van, we’ve got nothing to go on.” Addison says solemnly holding Jules gaze. “Only what Bg can tell us.” Jules glances over at me and looks back at Addison and they turn their backs to me and walk through the living room to the other side, in a hushed conversation.
I scull the rest of my glass of water. I need to do something here, because I can’t be a werewolf, my shape shift is just not coming on. And there are already enough frustrated, werewolves here who are affectively stuck in this place, on the first night of lunar week, unable to be of use. I already proved ineffectual when I couldn’t stop Paris being dragged into that van. And I’m generally looked down on in these situations anyway, because I’m a beta wolf.
Movement from the front of the room catches my attention. The Breukelen have arrived. This isn’t a normal occurrence. Having another pack in another’s territory during lunar week. But the new breed of werewolf leaders are a little less rigid than the older generations of past. We understand when as werewolves, despite differences in pack, we need to band together and the benefits in helping one another out.
My sister Bodil, the Breukelen’s only alpha female werewolf, Booker Parish the Breuekelen’s only lycan and the Wakely brothers walk in. I stand up and they walk over to me. A solid group of warrior wolves with smarts. Well, you know except for the Conall Wakely part. He can fight, but he ain’t necessarily smart.
“All I can tell you is, we don’t know what we’re fighting. But I can tell you what I’m fighting for. Paris.” I say to my sister comes over. Her brown hair sweeping my face, as she bends down to hug me.
I’m about a head shorter than her. Bodil is tall, athletic. Her fighting in underground illegal fights in Brooklyn has given her a fierce reputation. She is someone you want on your side in a fight and she is someone who is powerful in our pack and the werewolf community at large.
“We’re always up for a fight.” She whispers in my ear as she releases me from the hug.
I lift my chin up at Booker. “Addison and Wiatt,” I say pointing out the two men to him. Booker slaps Gabe Wakely’s shoulder and along with Bodil, they head over to the main group of decision makers in the room.
This leaves me standing alone in a room full of werewolves, face to face with Conall Wakely, my ex boyfriend. Our parting was not nice, not easy and our relationship since has been anything but civil and amicable. It’s hindered somewhat by the fact that we’re both from the same pack and I left Conall for Paris. Conall hates Paris D’arenberg with a fiery passion.
Conall is a lot like me on one two levels. One, we are both Breukelen beta werewolves. Two, we are pack and we believe in pack. Other than this, we differ greatly and that is where the divide in attitudes comes in for us and where our problems begin but do not end.
“Are you really going to do this?” I ask him. “Help out.” I am in a bit of disbelief that Conall is actually here for me. He’s a good looking werewolf and he goes all out for lunar week. I’ve never known him to give up his lunar week activities for anyone or anything. And I’ve known Conall for years.
“I know you probably find it hard to believe but that’s why I’m here.” Conall replies.
My eyes narrow on him suspiciously. It’s hard to image he’d give up the luxuries of sex for fighting. Then again, he’s a guy who’s always liked fighting as much as sex. So maybe he’s genuine.
“This is not about us Conall. This is about Paris.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here.” I come closer to him. I don’t like the way that sounds to my ears. I could take it at face value. To mean he’s here to help, like he said he is. Or if I know Conall as I do, I’d be well within my right to be suspicious of the intent behind those words.
“You do anything to fuck this up for him, and I will personally ensure,”
“Babe. If anyone has earned the right to take a shot at Paris. It’s me. So don’t think I’m going to let some other douche bag, take away what is rightfully mine. This makes me your alley, not Paris’s enemy. Not yet.” We stare at each other until Conall walks off towards the other alpha werewolves who seem to be formulating a plan.
“After all, we’re pack and this is what pack do.”
12
“How do you kidnap an alpha werewolf?” Conall asks me as he breaks into another bottle of water.
“Huh?” We’re sitting together on the steps outside Paris’s apartment. More correctly, I was sitting there alone when Conall decided to sit down beside me and hasn’t left me in peace since.
“Think about it. An alpha werewolf is like the top dog, the big guy who’s boss of all he surveys. He’s got that position because he’s fierce, he has the reputation and skills to back up the title. So what kind of person, or wolf, goes after the big kahuna? I mean aren’t you either, stupid or incredibly confident to go for the top of the line?” Conall says tilting the bottle up to his mouth.
“I’ve been there Conall. You’ll do your head in trying to figure it out. I’ve settled on stupid. Stupid wolves try and go for something outside of their reach.”
“Yeah but see, the thing is they got what they were after right? They succeeded in getting the goal, Paris. So I think you need to rule stupid out.”
Conall and I are quietly being ignored by all the others going about their business of trying to solve the mystery of Paris’s disappearance. Leave the pups alone, don’t talk in front of the pups. I can’t help but thinking that those older than me will always think of me as a pup. Never on their level. Conall doesn’t seem bothered by this delegation of ignoring us. Why would he? He’s been told to stay put with me.
“Sometimes even the stupid ones get lucky.” I fire back at him. Conall shrugs his shoulders loosely.
“I’m just saying it doesn’t necessarily take a professional to kidnap someone right? But you have to have the smarts, the resources to know you’re target when it’s someone like Paris. Either, they know he’s a werewolf or someone of some sort of importance. Otherwise why would they target him?”
My head turns slowly to look at Conall as he caps the bottle of water. He has my attention now. “Go on.”
“I don’t know. I don’t really have more than that at the moment. I just keep thinking about all those urban legends we’ve heard as pups, growing up. You know that bad werewolves will be scooped up off the streets so they can’t hurt the population. That werewolves are used for werewolf trafficking in some underground sex industry on the black market. That we’re used as game for rich and bored types. That we’re hunted and eaten as a paranormal delicacy, you know, we’re gathered up late at night, experimented on by mysterious government types, so they can find a way to weaponise us.”
I’m nodding my head at everything he says. I’ve heard all the stories too. Almost every werewolf has. Rumours surrounding what happens to werewolves in a human world that doesn’t understand them or want them. It’s been constant our whole lives. It’s hard to know if it was started by werewolves or by Nons.
But there has never any evidence or any werewolf that had actually come forward saying any of this stuff had been done to them. It was always just people, talking.
It is just gossip and rumours. Although most of the rumours had seemingly started up, conveniently enough about the time the government funded, Pruym Eyelant was created in the nineteen fifties, even though it had been in existence in some form or other from the 1600s. The horror stories along with a name change to Plum Island Animal and Biological Containment Centre had then stuck with the werewolf culture since.
I grab the water bottle out of Conall’s hand and uncap it. Sculling down a large mouthful of water. “Rumours that are built on misunderstandings of situations like this. If we believed them we’d be here for forever. Maybe it was intended as a mugging, and then they figured they could get more out of it.”
“So why haven’t they called us then demanding more?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” I replied defensively slamming the water bottle down on the table. “Other than I want him back.” I said loudly before walking off on him quickly.
I need to get away from them all. The tears are building up again. I don’t want to cry. Out of all the things I can control and do, crying is not what I want to do. I see heads turn to watch me storm off, from the corner of my peripheral vision. I don’t care, they’ve all but ignored me up to now. Which is fine with me as long as they find Paris.
13
The sound of crickets chirp outside the bedroom, a light breeze wafted through. Tickling skin. The light inside the room was dim the moonlight does not reach us. The light hum of traffic the only noise to the scenery of night. We tumble around in sheets, performing a tango of desperation to be skin to skin without giving up control of position.
“Next time don’t make me wait for your call.” I mutter breathlessly between exchanges of mouths with Conall. His mouth curves against mine in a smile.
“Why, you not gonna wait?” He jokes rolling onto his back and pulling me up on top of him. He smells like cotton and night. With a touch of beer, a light sprinkling of concrete powder and dirt. It’s not an unpleasant scent to trace all over him. It’s very becoming.
“Maybe.” I answer straddling him till I’m sitting across him, the sheet tangled down around my waist. “See how you like being the one waiting around.” Conall is a cool customer. He chuckles up at me, his hand reaching for my breast greedily. Wanting to feel the weight of it in his hands, he pinches my nipples lightly.
“I can already tell you. I wouldn’t like it at all.” He says, his eyes flickering up to me before he pulls me back down to his chest. “Not one little bit.”
I smirk at him. “Good to know.” I reply before we delve into a kiss that heats my body with a shocking willingness. I need connection. And Conall just happened to be here. Willing. Waiting. Only he didn’t know he was. He thought he was reeling me in. Thought he was doing the chasing. Always the way. Male werewolf, loves the hunt and chase. Loves to think he’s in control and calling the shots. Best to let him think it, I can see he’s big on restraint and hiding anything to personal from sight..
Conall lifts his legs and I feel the press of him beneath me. Clearly enough there has been enough waiting here and that means enough foreplay. “Condom?” I ask pulling my mouth away from his neck where I’ve left teeth marks trailing his veins. You can still see the impressions there. Deep enough to be highly visible.
