Werewulf Journals 2: Trolling for Love (15 page)

Taylor danced on his toes, loosened his shoulders and rolled his head around, working out the kinks in his neck. Hunter stood stoically at ease, eyes locked on his prey.

“Go!”

The first blow and point hit Taylor so hard, propelling him up and backward, that his feet left the ground and he flew five feet up in the air.

“Point to Hunter!”

Before Taylor’s body descended, Hunter flashed into mid-form and snatched him out of the air, slashing his claws across the wulf’s chest before slamming him to the ground.

“Point to Hunter!”

While the guard began the change to mid-form, Hunter morphed to fur form, set his claws into the other wulf’s belly and sank his teeth and fangs into Taylor’s throat. The sweet, coppery tang of blood flowed over his tongue, firing his instincts and heightening his bloodlust.

“Point and match to Hunter! Yield, you fool!” Chase cried out, moving toward the two wulves still engaged by teeth and claws.

“Uncle, I yield!” Taylor slapped the floor with his clawed hand, still shifting back to skin form.

Reluctantly, Hunter retracted his fangs from Taylor’s flesh, growling and snarling as he backed up, battling the urge to finish off his opponent. The next instant, he’d regained full skin form before Taylor had finished his slower transformation.

Hunter ran his tongue across his bottom lip, tasting the sparkling life that was wulfen blood. “Damn, I was really hoping you’d prove stubborn enough to misuse those two seconds. Oh, well ...” He pushed himself to his feet and lowered his hand to Taylor. It wasn’t an offer of help, and the other wulf knew it. It was a change in overlords.

With a last glance toward Chase, Taylor took the extended hand and rose to his knees.

Placing his forehead against the broad back of the palm, he closed his eyes and intoned, “I am yours to call on.” His life now belonged to Hunter.

Chase met his cousin’s dry gaze. Hunter saw him realize what he had done. “If you wanted to borrow my man, you had but to ask.”

“Why ask when I can take ... or command? I’ll never again ask you for a thing, Chase.

We’ve lost that between us -- you’ve destroyed that relationship.”

Werewulf Journals 2: Trolling for Love

77

“Damn, Uncle ... you rock!” Fortrayn clapped his hands. His excitement over the fight just finished had brought a flush to his face. “That was terrific! I’ve never seen a change so quick. Hey, and the way you used those changes in your fighting form ...” Fort shook his head in awe. “Will you teach me?”

Hunter had to laugh at his young cousin’s enthusiasm. Yeah, the kid had earned the right to his adulthood, but sometimes -- like now -- his puppyish ways leaked through the shiny, new veneer of maturity.

“Sure, Fort, I’ll train you.”

It was only then Hunter noted Rosa hadn’t returned to her usual place by Fort’s side. A small niggle of worry ate at him. He’d thought Andrea and Rosa uninjured in the ruckus, but they’d left while he was so preoccupied with Melody he might have missed something ...

“How are the girls, Fort? They okay?”

Grinning, Fortrayn stuck out his chest and preened. “My two bitches are more than fine, Uncle Hunter. They whipped the shit out of Chase and his henchmen. Rosa took care of Taylor, here, and Andrea beaned Kerry over the head, using your pup’s distraction.” He laughed in derision. “Cookie dough as ammo ... got to love that!” His eyes shifted to where Chase sat. “Andrea didn’t want to stay here while Chase is around, so Rosa and she took Blair, some food and some blankets over next door. They’re going to hang out there until things calm down over here.”

“Good.” Hunter gave Fort an approving smile and nod. “You all did well. I’m very proud of how you all protected Melody until I could get here.” His lips twitched. “Did you really throw Rosa at Taylor?”

“Best forward pass I ever made! Course, I’m sure she’s thinking up some way to make me pay for that.” Fort’s face fell. “Uhm, Uncle ... I’m sorry I couldn’t stop Chase from ...

doing what he did ... to Aunt Melody before I got over here.” He turned a fierce frown on the only relative he’d looked up to apart from Hunter. “What you did was wrong, man.”

Chase visibly flinched. “In more ways than you know, pup,” he conceded.

Hunter frowned. “Fort honorably defended my den, faced up to you when the confrontation could end only one way. He’s earned the right to the title of wulf. No one better call him a puppy any longer ... except me!”

Fortrayn stood taller. “Thank you, Uncle. Coming from you, that’s the highest honor I could look for.”

Hunter slapped him on the back. “You’ll soon learn differently, Spot.” He rubbed his hands together. “Enough maudlin shit ... let’s get down to business.”

“Business ...? But, I thought you and I’d --” Chase’s confusion was written on his face.

Hunter cocked his eyebrow at his cousin. “Oh, you can believe we’ll get back to the question of your idiocy and what it’ll cost you in due time. Right now, there’s a critical situation on the Golden Gate Bridge I left to deal with this fiasco you engineered ...”

78 Camille Anthony

* * * * *

“... The damn thing fought me to a standstill, and to tell the truth, if it had brought the fight to me, I probably would have lost.” Hunter felt no shame admitting the troll could have bested him.

“That’s strange. There are several orders of trolls. Most of them are non-aggressive except during certain circumstances.”

Hunter sat forward. “This one is definitely aggressive. You should have seen the carnage and wreckage it produced. I need all the information you have, as soon as possible.

This situation cannot go on as it is.”

“Did anyone shoot any footage?”

“Are you kidding? Before I arrived, the media was flying and crawling around there like flies on blown meat.”

“Can you get hold of the video from this afternoon? I’d need to see this particular troll in order to identify its genus correctly.”

In response to Chase’s request, Hunter reached for his cell phone. “If there’s footage available, I’ll get it.” He punched a coded number for speed dial and held the phone to his ear as it began to ring.

“Morrison.”

“McCallum, here. I need any available footage from earlier today on the GG. Have it delivered to my home in half an hour.”

“That’s impossible. It’ll take me longer than that to gather the media.”

Hunter held his breath and counted to ten ... twice. “Why is that the first word out of your mouth whenever I have a conversation with you? Stop saying ‘impossible’ -- I don’t like it. Utilize your assets. The NHP team is readily available. Give the discs to Ari. He’ll get them to me.”

“When are you planning to do something about the Golden Gate Bridge? You left that little problem on hold, remember? I have city planners and the press breathing down my neck. The governor has called three times. Everyone wants results, McCallum, and so do I --

before the day is over!”

“I’m working on it at this end, Commissioner. You work on it at your end. Get me the discs.” Hunter started to flip the phone closed, thought of something, and brought the small cell back to his ear. “Hey, speaking of your end -- did you get Gregori that hospital pass?”

The silence at the other end of the phone sounded ominous.

“I can hear you thinking up a lie, Kevin. You promised him access to a ready supply of blood.”

Werewulf Journals 2: Trolling for Love

79

Morrison’s gruff voice revealed his displeasure. “The damned vampire ought to be staked, if you ask me!”

Why did he always allow his former partner to get under his skin, piss him off? They’d worked together closely for years. How had he missed seeing Morrison’s deep-dyed prejudices?

“Kevin, fuck you and the damn thick stick your ass is constantly riding. What do you think this is ... fucking Hollywood? You couldn’t get past Greg’s personal shields to stake him, but if you did, it wouldn’t do any good. If by some phenomenally cosmic chance you did manage to kill him, the parasite would only inhabit another host ... and be mighty pissed that you’d chased it out of a comfortable home. Greg tells me it takes a while to settle into a new mind.”

“I don’t want to know!” Morrison’s clipped tones were clearly audible to the listeners.

“And that’s what’s wrong with you, in my humble opinion. Send the pass with the CDs.” Hunter gently shut the lid, disengaging the connection. Taking a deep breath, he stared at the phone in his hand for a long moment. “He is such an asshole.”

Just then, the sound of Melody screaming came from the bedroom.

* * * * *

When the dream began, Melody smiled in her sleep. It came to her frequently and she welcomed the replaying of the night she met Hunter. She knew she was dreaming and didn’t want to waken, even welcoming the bad parts for she knew what was ahead ...

Oh, damn, she was late ... exactly four minutes late. He’d make her pay for that.

Breathing hard, chest heaving and heart pounding from fear and having jogged the last few blocks, she leaned against the familiar black iron lamppost, grateful for its rigid support.

Her legs were shaking so badly she feared she would fall. Her mouth dry with fear, she clenched her teeth, fighting to control the trembling of her jaw, shivering as the chill of the early autumn evening wind swirled about all her exposed flesh.

She draped her numb limbs in a semblance of availability and let her mind wander, absently rubbing at her nostrils to clear her sinuses. Her hand had slipped applying her signature scent of vanilla and cocoa butter, so now she reeked of chocolate. She wrinkled her nose, hoping the smell wouldn’t put off a potential customer. She wished she’d gone with the Alyssa Ashley Musk.

The blended lights of the setting sun and growing moon created eerie shadows that bathed the almost deserted corner of Divisidero and Webster. She stood by the streetlight, rubbing her freezing arms with equally freezing hands. The skimpy red sequined, too tight

“come-fuck-me” dress she wore left

r

both her a ms and legs bare. There was more outside the

s

dres than inside -- ev r

e y exposed inch of skin covered in goose bumps..

80 Camille Anthony

It was hard to believe this dress used to fit her loosely. Now it clung so tightly the stiff, tight fabric squeezed her breasts, making her prominent nipples more noticeable. It faithfully detailed the extra flesh on her full-figured body, calling cruel emphasis to the rounded curve of her belly. No one would think her a young, hot-blooded girl searching for a score. She glanced down in disgust. She was too old to be dressed like this, out in this cold wind. Serve her right if she caught pneumonia.

Gerald kept saying prostituting was like riding a bicycle: Once learned, you never forgot He was wrong. She had finally, deliberately forgotten. Now she couldn’t quite remember what to do, how to do it. The “skin” of it no longer fit her. Tonight she felt jittery ... nervous and unsure. Being afraid was worse ...

She furtively scanned the area for some sign of Gerald’s henchmen, knowing they hid somewhere along the street or lurked inside one of the buildings. No doubt, they were tracking her movements from behind the tattered blinds or ratty curtains adorning the abandoned houses facing the street, watching to make sure she didn’t contact the police.

Somehow, she had to make it through the next few hours.

s

She closed her eye in despair. Long before, she had stood in this same spot, her young-r

old hea t pounding in terror, her nearly naked limbs numb with cold, praying for a savior.

One had come ... a wonderful, understanding man -- a brave man. He took the scared, desperate girl she’d been

r

away f om this corner and changed her completely. He’d schooled her, re-shaped and molded the deformed clay of her life. Then he had married her ...

Tonight, she was back on her old corner, and there wouldn’t be another savior coming to her rescue.

She straightened her shoulders and lifted her head, rejecting even the posture of defeat.

She would not entertai

f

n the notion of ailure ... too much rode on her success.

She needed to make big money tonight so

r

she could gain her f eedom from the

monster holding her under his power. Her best bet was to chance upon a clean, rich, normal john who would pay her well for some mindless, uncommitted fucking. That’s why she had her doctor’s report of clean health tucked in her bra and not enough skin covered to hide a badge.

The sex-trolling traffic wouldn’t thicken until later when it r

grew darke , so she took

the opportunity to rest against the streetlight, using the bulky iron column as a windbreak.

Like a trapped rat in a maze, her mind scurried over the same territory, worrying over what more she could do to resolve her present dilemma.

Gerald was a rabid animal; a drug-crazed threat from her past. He thought he could bring her back under his rule, to control her once more. He had already taken too much away from her ... her self-respect, her courage ... her very life! She wouldn’t let him take

-

anything -- anyone - else away from her. She wouldn’t. No longer was she that weak, powerless girl from years back. She would never again be anyone’s victim ...

Werewulf Journals 2: Trolling for Love

81

Much as she hated turning to hooking again, she would do what she had to. If her luck held, her old-new career would end tonight.

Please, God, send me a well-heeled mark to make my evening’s work short and quickly over.

She would fuck his brains out, take his money, add it to what she had saved up and throw it in Gerald’s face. She’d do one last thing ... find a way to kill Gerald Spenser -- her brother-in-law.

“Mhmm, mhmm, mhmm -- don’t you look good? Hello, lovely lady.”

The man appeared before her -- white, big, muscular, a hunk with shoulders wide as a football field and hips lean and taut as firm cantaloupe. Thick black hair with just a touch of grey at the edges made him appear ... mature, not old. He was prime beef, perfection on the hoof, sexy enough to have any heif r