Werewulf Journals 2: Trolling for Love (8 page)

Taylor’s massive shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug but his gaze lowered in submission. Replacing his Ray-Bans, he took up his former relaxed posture in the limo’s far corner.

Kerry glanced from Taylor to Chase and back again. “What did I say wrong? Isn’t contacting Alpha Hunter the correct procedure?”

With conscious effort, Chase also forced his body into a relaxed stance on the plush, black leather. Another smile, this one almost unwilling, stretched his lips. “Don’t worry about it, Kerry. Hunter surely knows I’m on my way ... and what I’m coming for.”

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Slinging his leg over his bike and standing to remove his helmet and gloves, Hunter looked back at the long line of bumper-to-bumper vehicles he’d maneuvered his classic Harley-Davidson Road King through to get to the police check-point on the Golden Gate Bridge.

Hunter reached into the left saddlebag, retrieved a pair of dark sunglasses, and slid them on, shielding his already shifted eyes. Fresh meat and hot, spilled blood always made his eyes go feral, and he didn’t need questions and doubts of his loyalty to the force clouding the tense situation. The smell of the carnage littering the road up ahead had reached him long before he made it to the bridge.

After a moment’s thought, he left his keys in the ignition in case the officer needed to move the vehicle before he returned. Drawing out his security ID card, Hunter prepared to flash it as he strode up to the yellow taped-off area, but the young officer manning the first checkpoint recognized him from other operations. Police work was a small world. He tucked the badge in a shirt pocket for easy retrieval.

“Mr. McCallum ... man, am I glad to see you.” The rookie dipped his chin in salute, and Hunter subdued a grin. The human didn’t realize he’d just performed a traditional gesture used when wulves greeted an Alpha.

“Danvers, isn’t it? What’s going on up front?”

The man’s freckles stood out in his pale face. He smelled of recent vomit and hurt tangled up with fear. His complexion paled even more as he swallowed down a rise of bile.

“Something’s on the bridge stopping the cars from passing. Something is ... tossing cars --

even SUVs -- through the air! Right now, they’re just trying to get all these cars turned around and off the bridge, out of harm’s way. We’ve had multiple pile-ups, sir. The death toll is rising as the rescue teams pry the busted vehicles open.”

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Hunter could have told the officer exactly how many mangled bodies littered the road.

The rank stink of feces from sphincters going lax in death fouled the air. The sweeter scent of shredded meat, laced with fresh, running blood, wafted to his nostrils, and he automatically controlled the urge to feed. He hoped like hell none of his more rabid kindred lurked near this killing ground.

Drawing his attention from the distracting aromas, Hunter placed a commiserating hand on the youngster’s shoulder. “This your first major multiple, Danvers?”

The kid swallowed, his head moving in a jerky nod. “Yes, sir, it is.”

Hunter sighed. “Nothing you can do about those already dead, man. We’re here to make sure no others end up the same.”

Danvers straightened his shoulders and stood tall. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He pointed a shaky finger in the direction of the tollgates. “The commissioner is waiting for you. He said to let you through as soon as you showed up.”

Hunter gave the officer a considering glance and nodded in approval. “You’ll do, kid. I puked my guts out first time I came up on something like this.”

Astonishment widened the man’s eyes. He brightened. “Really, sir?”

No, not really, I’ve never lost a meal over road kill, boy. But the lie doesn’t hurt me and gives you back a little of your self-esteem. Hunter nodded. “Yep, I lost it big time.”

“Well ... that’s ... er ... I mean ...” The youth drew himself up in unconscious replication of Hunter’s stance. “We can’t all keep it in when something like this happens. It’s okay to spew as long as you get right back to your duty.”

Hunter almost laughed at the kid’s earnest attempt at comfort. “Thanks, man. I appreciate your not laughing at me over that lapse.”

A confused frown creased Danvers’ eyebrows. “It’s ... laughing wouldn’t be nice, sir.”

Hunter slid his glasses down and looked over the top of them into the boy’s eyes. “You still got some nice?” His head gave a disbelieving shake. “Huh! Rookies!”

He slid his glasses back up. “Is it okay to leave my bike here?”

The young officer took one look at the black and chrome classic and lost his sickly look. “Oh man, is she sweet! That’s the Harley-Davidson 2003 Road King, right?”

“She is, indeed. Got a great --”

“A 1340cc engine with a five-gallon gas tank that makes ... what? Thirty-seven miles a gallon in the city, right? Baby comes with removable saddlebags, backrest and windshield that lets you go from family man to solo in under five minutes and --” He tilted his head, scoping the bike with a knowledgeable eye. “-- looks like you opted for the electronic sequential port fuel injected version.”

Hunter’s brows rose in admiration. “Looks like I’m leaving her in the hands of a connoisseur.”

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Danvers shrugged. “My dad rented us twin bikes from Motorcycle Rental over in San Rafael for my eighteenth birthday. We did the Highway 1 to Monterey Bay route.” His eyes went dreamy. “Boy, it was sweet! It’ll be years before I can afford one of these babies, though.” He glanced up at Hunter. “I’ll watch over her for you, sir.”

Hunter left the man drooling over his pride and joy and made his way over to command central. Before he’d reached the men huddled together in the midst of confusion, a tall black man turned and met Hunter’s gaze across the bowed heads of his cronies.

Kevin Morrison’s face hardened, and his eyes glinted with an elusive expression Hunter had never been able to fathom. His old partner didn’t look too glad to see him. Well, Hunter decided, Kevin was happier seeing him than he had been dealing with whatever bogey had scared him enough to call Hunter in on the problematic situation.

“Hunter, glad you could drag yourself away from whatever you were doing to finally join us.”

Hunter bit back a growl, thinking about just whom he’d dragged his reluctant bod away from. It took all his control not to turn around, get on his bike, and high-tail his still semi-hard cock back to Melody’s welcoming heat. “No problem, Kev, my man” He smirked, knowing how much the commissioner hated the shortened version of his name. “I never have anything better to do than snatch your bacon out of the fire.”

A few of the men surrounding the police commissioner laughed outright. The others, more cautious or more dependent on the commissioner’s good graces, hid their guffaws behind fake coughs and raised fists.

Hunter nodded, acknowledging the group of city officials and street warriors before turning back to Kevin. “So, Commissioner, what do we have, besides a media circus?”

Face as pasty as a black man’s complexion could go, Morrison handed Hunter a pair of high-tech binoculars. “We don’t know ... but we can’t send any more of our people in there.

That thing keeps tossing them back to us in pieces.”

Hunter took the glasses, pushed his shades to the top of his head, and peered into the telescopic lenses. His lips grew tight as he worked the focus, bringing the scene into horrific clarity.

Just at the base of the south tower, a hulking ... creature ... stood alone, surrounded by a wide circle of destruction. An area of over fifteen feet in diameter -- its edges defined by the piled up wreckage of cars, trucks, and SUVs, with rescue workers cautiously scrambling over and into the upended, discarded detritus -- lay between the tall, shaggy being and any other living thing.

The thing was gigantic and stood at least a foot taller than Hunter’s six-foot-five inches in skin form. Fungus-green hair covered its burly muscular frame, and long matted tangles of hair sprang from its head in every direction. Thick legs held it upright as its neck swept left and right, turning its shaggy, misshapen head constantly, keeping its tormentors in view.

40 Camille Anthony

Hunter lowered the field glasses and pursed his lips. Finished with them, he passed the binoculars back to Kevin. “I’ll be damned. I haven’t seen a troll in ... well ...” He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, gripped a handful and tugged. “Fact is, I’ve never seen a troll -- until now. I’ve heard about them, though.”

“But you know how to deal with one, right?” the commissioner asked. His voice came out strained and hushed, as if he feared the thing could hear his words from where it stood yards away in that circle of death and free-form motor sculpture.

Hunter readjusted his sunglasses. “Nope.”

“My god, Hunter, what are you saying?” Kevin’s voice rose with his agitation. “My men have shot this thing, gassed it and shocked it, all to no effect. We’ve had to close the bridge to cars both ways, and now traffic is piled up so far back, it’ll take a day and night to clear.

Please don’t tell me you can’t handle this situation because frankly, I can’t afford to hear anything like that.”

Hunter kept his eyes trained on the hairy creature that had begun to rock back and forth, keening in a voice so high-pitched, it hurt his ears. “I didn’t say I couldn’t handle it --

though the jury hasn’t returned on that one. I simply said I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Kevin Morrison harrumphed. “I don’t have time to play semantics with you, McCallum. Can you take care of this problem for the city of San Francisco, or not?”

Hunter smiled. The men surrounding the commissioner cringed. “Yeah,” he drawled, slow and mocking, “I can handle your problem Kevin ... for a price.”

Kevin grimaced. “It always comes down to a price with you, doesn’t it, Hunter?”

“I’d do it for friendship, Kev, but I know you don’t have any in stock.” Hunter’s comment made the commissioner flinch.

“What do you want? Exactly how much money will it take for you to handle this situation?”

“Once they find a bridge, it’s almost impossible to get a troll to leave,” Hunter informed his audience. “They’re tenacious and contentious and don’t take kindly to trespassers over what they consider their property. Course, they can usually be placated with a toll, but the Department of Transportation is already gouging us citizens for more than we can afford.”

“Can. You. Deal. With. This. Thing?” Kevin snarled through gritted teeth, his jaw bunched in an angry knot.

“I believe so. My fee for trying is time spent with my charges.”

Kevin looked at Hunter, his face a big question mark. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m beginning to see you never did,” Hunter whispered, almost to himself.

He crooked his finger at Morrison, beckoning him closer, wanting to make sure no one overheard the upcoming conversation. Kevin reluctantly took the steps over to Hunter’s side, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I’m here. What do you want?”

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“An hour with my godchildren, Danielle and Kevin, Jr. You can supervise.”

Kevin Morrison reared back. Forgetting himself, he raised his voice and rasped, “Hell no, you bastard!”

An ache in the middle of his chest throbbed with a pain hot enough to scar. Hunter didn’t let Kevin see how his words had hurt him. “Okay, catch you later.” He turned and started walking back to his bike.

“Wait! Where the hell are you going?”

Hunter swung around. “Home. I left something simmering on the back burner to come out here. If I hurry, I can get back before it dries up.”

The commissioner sputtered. “You ... you’ll just leave, just walk away like this? What about those people -- the ones that thing has already killed? What about the city?”

“What about them, Kevin? I’m not even on the clock right now. This isn’t clean-up; this falls under your job description, not mine.”

“How can you be so cold?” the black man hissed, eyes finally meeting Hunter’s bland gaze.

A smile stretched his lips but failed to reach his eyes. “I took lessons from a friend.”

“Suppose I agree to this blackmail ... what then?”

“Then I’ll expect you to keep your word.” Hunter took his glasses off and slid them into his shirt pocket.

This far from the others, his eyes would go unnoticed. Kevin was closer, and he had no problem seeing how far Hunter had shifted toward animal. “My god, Hunter, you’re losing control!”

“This isn’t loss of control, Kevin. This is a warning. Back out of the deal, betray me again, and I’ll call in payment on the debt you owe me from fifteen years ago.”

Morrison blanched.

Hunter steeled his heart. He meant every word. He’d kill Kevin if he tried to renege on this bargain. He’d waited a long time to finagle a way to see his godchildren again.

The commissioner took a deep breath. “All right,” he whispered, “you win.”

Hunter shook his head and pointed back to the huddle of men standing a short distance away. “Say it ... say it out loud, Kevin, before all these witnesses ... loud enough for them to hear. Invite me to dinner.”

Kevin’s eyes went wide. Looking like he’d bitten into something rotten, Morrison raised his voice and said, “Alison and the kids are looking forward to seeing you ...” He cocked his head, silently waiting for a clue.

“Sunday,” Hunter mouthed.

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“... Sunday for dinner.” The lines of his dark face loosened, a cunning expression twisted his lips. “Don’t forget to bring your significant other. The missus is dying to meet her.”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed, but his mouth stretched wide in an answering grin. “My fiancée, Mel, is sorta shy, but she’s been dying to meet my ex-partner and his family after all I’ve told her about them. Tell you what, Kevin ... I’ll bring both her and her son. What time should we show up?”

“Three.”

Hunter rocked on his heels, hiding his grin at Kevin’s chagrin. “Cool. We’ll be there.”

He started for his motorcycle once more.