I'd deserted him once, a long time ago. I wouldn't do it again.
The sounds died down until all I could hear was the harsh panting of his breath, but I could smell his rage. I didn't bother undressing before I shifted-it would have taken too long. When Samuel's white head appeared over the top of the seat, I was backing out of my T-shirt and bra.
I stopped what I was doing and crouched on the floor of the van, tail tucked between my legs. I didn't look up, but I felt the springs give way as he climbed slowly over the back and stood on the seat.
I was so scared it was hard to breathe. I knew what I had to do next, but I wasn't certain I could manage it. If some part of me weren't absolutely convinced that Sam, my Sam, could never hurt me, I wouldn't have been able to do the next part.
He was utterly silent. In Montana, on a hunt, the wolves howl and cry, but in the city all hunting is done soundlessly. Growls, whines, and barks are all bluffing tools-it is the quiet wolf that will kill you.
With Samuel perched silently on the backseat, I rolled over onto my back and exposed my belly to his jaws. I stretched my chin so that my neck was vulnerable to him as well. It was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. It wasn't as if he couldn't kill me as easily if I were lying on my belly, but there was something worse about exposing my unprotected underside. Being submissive is a bitch.
The van dipped again as he jumped down, landing almost on top of me. I could smell his anger-the sour smell of his fear had faded all away with his humanity, leaving only the wolf. Hot breath moved my fur as he sniffed his way upward, his nose parting my hair as he went. Slowly the anger faded along with the intensity that had allowed me to know what he was feeling.
I tilted my head and risked a glance. Samuel filled the space between the short bench seat and the sliding door. Caught beneath him, one front paw on either side of my shoulders, I felt a sudden claustrophobia and instinctively tried to roll over.
I stopped the movement as soon as it began, but Samuel lunged forward with a warning growl and a snap of teeth in my face. I tried to take comfort from the growl, since theoretically, if he was growling he wasn't likely to kill me-but I was too aware of the volatile nature of the werewolves.
He moved suddenly, closing his mouth over my throat-but too wide for a jugular strike. I could feel his teeth through the fur on my neck, but they stopped as soon as they touched my skin.
I prayed then that Bran was right, and Samuel's wolf looked upon me as his mate. If he was wrong, then both Samuel and I would pay the price.
I held very still as my heart tried desperately to pound its way out of my rib cage. He released me, nipped gently at my nose, then slipped soundlessly away.
I rolled to my feet and shook my fur to resettle it, shedding my bra at last. Samuel was stretched along the backseat, watching me with his beautiful white eyes. He blinked at me once, then resettled his muzzle on his front paws and closed his eyes, saying, as clearly as he could without words, that the two halves of his soul were together again.
I heard the quiet purr of a big engine coming down the park road. I shifted to human as quickly as I could and began scrambling for clothes. My underwear was pale green and I found them first. The sports bra went on easier than it had come off, and I found my T-shirt when my foot touched it.
The car slowed as it approached, its headlights glinting through the window of my van.
"Pants, pants, pants," I chanted as I brushed my hands over the floor. My fingers found them as tires crunched gravel and the car parked behind us. They also found Zee's dagger. I shoved it under the rubber mat near the side of the van farthest from the sliding door.
Feverishly, I jerked my pants up, zipped, and buttoned them as the driver's side door of the other car opened. Shoes. Luckily they were white and I snatched them up and pulled them on over my bare feet without untying them.
I gave the hulking brute stretched across the full length of the van's backseat a frantic look. Samuel wouldn't be able to change back for a while yet, probably a few hours. A forced change takes time to recover from, even for a wolf of Samuel's power, and it was too late to try to hide him.
"You're a good dog, Samuel," I told him sternly. "Don't scare the nice police officer. We don't have time to be escorted down to the station house."
A flashlight found me, and I waved, then slowly opened the sliding door.
"Jogging, Officer," I said. The flashlight kept me from picking out a face.
There was a long pause. "It's one in the morning, ma'am."
"I couldn't sleep." I gave him an apologetic smile.
"Jogging alone at night isn't safe, ma'am." He lowered the flashlight, and I blinked rapidly, hoping the residual afterimages would fade soon.
"That's why I always take him," I said, and jerked a thumb toward the back of the van.
The policeman swore. "Sorry, ma'am. That's just the biggest damn dog I've ever seen-and I grew up with Saint Bernards."
"Don't ask me what he is," I said, sliding through the door so I stood beside the policeman rather than below him. "I got him from the pound when he was a puppy. My vet says he might be an Irish Wolfhound cross of some sort, maybe with something with a little wolf like a Husky or Samoyed."
"Or Siberian Tiger," he muttered, not intending me to hear. In a louder voice, he said, "Why don't you let me see your license, registration, and insurance, ma'am." He was relaxed, now, not expecting trouble.
I opened the front passenger door and retrieved my purse from the jockey box, where I'd tucked it when we'd stopped at Uncle Mike's. Right next to the registration, insurance cards and my SIG.
Life would be much easier if the nice police officer didn't see that-or the. 444 Marlin in the far back. I had a concealed carry permit, but I'd rather keep this low-key. Especially since, according to Stefan, Zee's dagger was not legal.
I gathered the insurance card and registration, then shut the jockey box-gingerly, so the SIG didn't rattle. I needn't have worried. When I looked for him, the police officer was sitting on the floor of the van petting Samuel.
Any other werewolf of my acquaintance I'd have been worried about-they aren't pets, and some of them resent being treated like one. Samuel canted his face so that the policeman's fingers found just the right spot behind his ear and groaned with pleasure.
Samuel liked humans. I remember him coming down to play with the elementary-school kids-all human-at recess. Most werewolves avoid children, but not Samuel. They all knew who he was, of course, and when they saw him as a man they called him Dr. Cornick and treated him as they would have treated any other adult. But when he came to school as a wolf, they put him to work playing pony, runaway dog, and ferocious, but loyal, wolf-friend. He did it with the same fierce enjoyment as the children.
"He's beautiful," the policeman said, getting out of the van at last and taking my paperwork. "How big is he when he's standing up?"
I clicked my fingers. "Samuel, come."
He stood up on the bench seat, and the top of his back brushed the roof of the van. Then he stretched and hopped off the seat and onto the gravel road without touching the floor of the van. He deliberately moved like a big dog, a little clumsy and slow. His thick winter coat and the night provided some camouflage of the differences that no amount of mixed breeding could account for.
Werewolves' front legs are built more like a bear's or a lion's than a timber wolf's. Like the former two, werewolves used their claws to rip and tear flesh, and that means their musculature is different, too.
The policeman whistled and walked around him. He was careful to keep the flashlight out of Samuel's eyes. "Look at you," he murmured. "Not an ounce of fat and every bit of two hundred pounds."
"You think so? I've never weighed him," I said. "I know he's heavier than I am, and that's good enough for me."
The policeman gave me back my license and assorted papers without actually looking at any of them. "I'd still be happier if you ran in the daylight, ma'am. In any case, this park is closed at night-safer for everyone."
"I appreciate your concern for my safety," I said earnestly, patting the werewolf lightly on the head.
The police officer moved his car, but he waited while I closed Samuel back into the van and followed me out of the park as far as the on-ramp to the highway-so I couldn't stop to put my socks on. I hate going barefoot in leather tennis shoes.
Samuel levered his bulk up on the front passenger seat and stuck his head out the window, flattening his ears against the tear of the wind.
"Stop that," I chided him. "Keep all your body parts in the van."
He ignored me and opened his mouth, letting his tongue get swept back like his ears. After a while, he pulled his head in and grinned at me.
"I've always wanted to do that," I confessed. "Maybe when this is all over, you can drive, and I'll stick my head out the window."
He turned toward me and let his front paws rest on the floor between our seats. Then he stuck his nose in my midriff and whined.
"Stop that!" I shrieked, and slapped his muzzle. "That's just rude."
He pulled his head back and gave me a quizzical look. I took the opportunity to glance at my speedometer and make sure I wasn't speeding.
"You're going to cause a wreck, Samuel Llewellyn Cornick. Just you keep your nose out of my business."
He snorted and put one paw on my knee, patted it twice-then stuck his nose in my belly button again. He was quicker than my slap this time, withdrawing all the way back onto his seat.
"My tattoo?" I asked, and he yipped-a very bassy yip. Just below my naval I had a pawprint. He must have seen it while I was scrambling into my clothes. I have a couple on my arms, too.
"Karen, my college roommate, was an art major. She earned her spending money giving people tattoos. I helped her pass her chemistry class, and she offered to give me one for free."
I'd spent the previous two years living with my mother and pretending to be perfect, afraid that if I weren't, I'd lose my place in my second home as abruptly as I had the first. It would never have occurred to me to do something as outrageous as getting a tattoo.
My mother still blames Karen for my switching my major from engineering to history-which makes her directly responsible for my current occupation, fixing old cars. My mother is probably right, but I am much happier as I am than I would have been as a mechanical engineer.
"She handed me a book of tattoos that she had done and about halfway through was a guy who'd had wolf tracks tattooed across his back from one hip to the opposite shoulder. I wanted something smaller, so we settled on a single pawprint."
My mother and her family had known what I was, but they'd asked no questions, and I'd hidden my coyote self from them, becoming someone who fit their lives better. It had been my own choice. Coyotes are very adaptable.
I remember staring at the man's back and understanding that, although I must hide from everyone else, I could not hide from myself anymore. So I had Karen put the tattoo on the center of my body, where I could protect my secret and it could keep me whole. I'd finally started to enjoy being who I was instead of wishing that I were a werewolf or human so I'd fit in better.
"It's a coyote pawprint," I said firmly. "Not a wolf's."
He grinned at me and stuck his head out the window again; this time his shoulders followed.
"You're going to fall out," I told him.
CHAPTER 12
"The pack is coming," I told Samuel, as we cruised slowly by Warren's house for a look-see. "I don't know how much you remember from while you were changing, but Warren called for help. Adam was sleeping and couldn't be woken up-" With Samuel safe, I could worry about Adam. "Is that normal?"
Samuel nodded, and I felt a wave of relief. Clearing my throat, I continued, "Since we can't trust the pack, I think Warren is going to try to keep them away from Adam-which would be fine except that Darryl is Adam's second." Which meant a fight.
Samuel told me once that, despite all the physical benefits they gain, the average life span of a werewolf from his first Change until his death is ten years. People, like my old friend Dr. Wallace, who had to be eliminated within their first year, accounted for some of that. But most werewolves died in dominance fights with other wolves.
I didn't want Warren or even Darryl to die tonight-and if one of them did, it would be my fault. Without my flash of intuition or paranoia that there was something wrong with the pack, Warren wouldn't have been trying to keep Darryl away from Adam.
Richland was quiet, but both sides of the street on Warren's block were solid with parked cars. I recognized Darryl's 67 Mustang as I passed it: the pack was already here. I parked a block away and jogged back with Samuel at my side.
A woman stood under the porch overhang in front of Warren's door. Her black, black hair was pulled back into a waist-length ponytail. She folded her sleekly muscled arms and widened her stance when she saw me. She was a chemistry teacher at Richland High and Darryl's mate.
"Auriele," I said, climbing up the stairs until I shared the porch with her.
She frowned at me. "I told him that you wouldn't do anything to hurt Adam, and he believed me. I told him you would not act against the pack. You have some explanations to give."
As Darryl's mate, Auriele ranked high in the pack. Normally I'd have discussed the matter with her politely-but I needed to get past her and into Warren's home before someone got hurt.
"Fine," I said. "But I need to explain myself to Darryl, not you, and not right now."
"Darryl is busy," she said, not buying my argument. I'd noticed before that teaching classrooms of teenagers made Auriele hard to bluff.
I opened my mouth to try again, when she said, "We keep the Silence."
Wolves have little magic, as most people think of it. Sometimes there will be one, like Charles, who has a gift, but for the most part they are limited to the change itself, and a few magics that allow them to stay hidden. One of those is Silence.
I glanced around and saw four people (doubtless there were others if I cared to look) standing unobtrusively around Warren's duplex, their eyes closed and their mouths moving in the chant that brought Silence upon all that stood within their circle.