When Will I See You Again (7 page)

“Yeah, let’s take a look around,” he agreed. “See what we can find out on the subject of Raoul Marchand. I mean werewolves.”

He blushed at his own faux pas.

Miller laughed. “Grab your drink, and come on.”

Alexx snatched up both drink and napkin, and followed Miller to a nearby staircase that wound up to the second floor gallery.

Here we go.
He felt a tingle of anticipation, as he climbed the wrought iron steps, wondering what he was getting into.

In the back of his mind, though, he couldn’t help but wonder if Raoul was going to be okay, even though his common sense told him that at his age, he was certainly able to take care of himself.

Still he worried.

In times of stress, he had a secret weapon, something he did to calm his nerves. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he began to softly whistle.

Raoul’s entire body pulsed with his impending change. He felt everything acutely and every nerve in his body throbbed. If not for SL57—SomnioLupus, mostly known by its common nickname, Wolf Trank—he’d already have been secluded from the rest of humanity, hidden from view long before the early stages of his transformation. Locked up, reviled, and feared for something that was beyond his power to control. With the drug, he was considered safe to go where he pleased, do as he wished.

SL57 had freed the werewolves in the same way that Blut allowed vampires freedom from the need to drink human blood, providing them with an artificial alternative. With the advent of these, mankind became truly aware of the beings that lived among them. And they survived the knowledge.
Raoul had pushed his luck as it was, and for what? Over the silly matter of an ID. Now he was about to pay the price for his tardiness. He should never have gone down there, much less lingered as he did. He rocketed out of the holding room, putting the matter behind him. His overwhelming impulse was to run—to put as much distance between himself and the rest of the world as quickly as he could.

For a brief moment he considered going up to his office, just until the change passed. But then he realized he’d be stuck there— wolves have no opposable thumbs with which to open doors. He plunged, instead, into the midst of the departing throng, as they teemed toward the exit.

Anticipatory excitement surged through their midst. Some of the pack was going to a prearranged location for their monthly jaunt, while others thrived on the attention they garnered with the change—it fostered their exhibitionistic tendencies. They encouraged spectators to bear witness to the occasion. The crowd that frequented Charisma appreciated the spectacle that went along with this very public event. Raoul valued his privacy too much to participate.

Once outside the club, he veered away from them as they converged on the parking lot, loping toward the coniferous woods that lay on the other side of the macadam. The locals had nicknamed it Wolf Woods long ago, because of the large number of wolves sighted there in the times before the lycanthropic coming out. Now this was his private domain, and he knew none would dare to follow him there, knowing they’d take a chance on incurring his very sizeable wrath. Not even other members of his pack used this place anymore, following the instructions of Raoul’s father, Philippe Marchand. On occasion, he consented to join his
father’s group during the full moon, but his attendance was hit or miss at best and, knowing his inclinations, they never worried when he didn’t show up.

Hurry, hurry…
His heart pounded a beat with every step he took. He lengthened his stride until he was racing, his long hair flying out behind him, his muscular legs pumping. His intention was to reach his place of security within the trees as quickly as he could. He had a small shelter there, a shack that was well hidden within the trees, one he used for utilitarian purposes. He kept provisions there—water, and food, for when the night was done, and he was spent. A place to keep his clothes, rather than leave them lying on the ground, exposed to the elements.

He still needed to strip before tonight’s change, or else…

Too late, he realized he wasn’t going to make it. His usually impeccable timing was off-kilter tonight. He felt the change begin as he plunged into the darkness of the fir trees. Not wishing to stop, he kept running until the pain grew too strong, his muscles protesting his continued activity. Forced to admit defeat, he stopped where he was, dropping to his knees on the pine needle-covered ground, as the first waves overtook him. While he was still able to do so, he toed his boots off—he liked them too much to damage them willingly.

The monthly change was a powerful force, despite the drugs he took to remain in control. He’d heard from his father and some of the other members of the pack that it was worse before SL57, but all he knew was it hurt. The major difference between then and now—at the end of his change, he’d remain in control of his mental faculties—he’d retain control over the wolf. He’d be one with the wolf, possessing a perspective on the animal kingdom enjoyed by few.
He fell on all fours, a searing pain shooting through his spine as his entire skeletal structure twisted, going from biped to quadruped, his center of balance shifting accordingly. His muscles tightened, sending different signals to his brain. His clothes could not withstand the violent changes. They fell from him as useless rags, a casualty of his encounter with the man inside Charisma.

Two men. There were two men there. Why did he think of but one? He shook his head, even as it changed, the bones in his face breaking and reforming into a longer version of itself, his teeth elongating.

What was there about that man’s eyes that burned inside his brain?

Raoul closed his eyes, the shudders of his body gradually lessening until they ceased entirely. The wolf opened his eyes, lifted his muzzle and howled the news of his arrival to the world.

*

He saw there was no line waiting to get in, and the bouncers were no longer in evidence. Alexx walked past a couple headed toward the club, his eyes focused on the ground. He heard someone say, “Hey, is he somebody?” Could they be talking about him? Then another voice. “Nope, he’s no one.” Yeah, they must mean him. He walked on.
It was just Alexx now. He’d lost Miller a while back, sometime after they’d gone up to the second floor gallery. Besides the tables overlooking the main floor, there were also private rooms, and they’d ended up in one, partying with some people he’d never seen before. People offered him food and drink every way he turned. He found it hard to say no, even if he didn’t know what some of the drinks were. He accepted them, took a polite sip, and then ended up setting them down somewhere else.

The party had moved to a second room, maybe a third, he didn’t remember. The last time he’d seen Miller, he was talking to some girl. Maybe he’d hooked up with her. Alexx wished him well, but he was ready to go—he’d had enough of Charisma for one night.

It was time to head home. He’d learned all he was going to for now. Tomorrow was another day. Besides, to take the next step, he needed Raoul Marchand.

Correction, he
wanted
Raoul Marchand. He’d never wanted anyone so badly in his life, never felt this way before. He’d wanted to melt right then and there into the older man’s arms.

Too bad the sexiest man he’d ever seen had hated him at first sight.

His head still buzzed, with a pain that lurked just behind his eyes. At least under cover of the night, he wouldn’t have the bright sunlight to deal with. He was halfway across the parking lot before it occurred to him to look for Miller’s car. But that quickly proved futile—too many vehicles crammed together. Even with the light standards that dotted the lot, it was too dark to easily tell one from another.

Now what to do? He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at the sky. The full moon rode well above the horizon.
He stared in fascination at the golden pockmarked surface.

“Do you hate the moon, Raoul?” he murmured softly. “Hate it for what it does to you?” That would make sense, although he thought he’d find it hard to hate something so beautiful. Just like Raoul. Potentially dangerous, yet he was sure there was more to him than what lay on the surface.

Oh, how he wanted to find out what that something was.

He heard a noise behind him. He whirled, startled, and scanned the silhouettes of the rows of cars around him. Moonlight reflected from their windshields. He could see nothing else.

He must have imagined it. Yet when he took another step, he heard it again, closer now. Heart beating rapidly, he spun about.

Too quickly, for he lost his balance. He reached out toward the nearest vehicle to keep from falling. His hand slapped the metal of a compact car, the sound loud in the silence.

“You okay?”

Alexx jumped. Heart thumping, he peered in the direction of the voice. He could barely make out the figure of a man standing in between two vehicles. Where had he come from? Then he realized the noise he’d heard was probably just the sound of him getting out of his car.
Quit being such a baby,
he berated himself
.
He swallowed, trying to still his racing pulse.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said at last.

“Good.” The shadow drew nearer.

Alexx took a step back automatically. He felt uneasy for reasons he couldn’t define, just a vague feeling in his gut. His hand clenched around the cell phone in his pocket, jingling his change.

Just in case.

“I was just going in, want to join me? Let me buy you a drink.”

The man stepped through a swath of illumination from a nearby
halogen light. Alexx could see him more clearly now. He appeared to be maybe thirty, decently dressed, average looks and build.

There was something in his manner, though, that Alexx didn’t care for.

“Thanks, I’m going home now. You go ahead, have fun.” He forced a bravado into his voice that he was far from feeling. He inched backward, his leg brushing along the car beside him.

“Okay, I will.” But instead of turning and heading toward Charisma, he advanced toward Alexx. “C’mon,” he encouraged him, “we’ll have fun.”

Alexx took in the size of the man. He had to have at least thirty pounds on Alexx, if not more. Definitely not an even match. His first thought was to run back to Charisma and enlist the aid of the bouncers. But the man was between him and the nightclub.

Screaming would do no good. There was no longer anyone outside to hear.

Something in the man’s hand gleamed in the moonlight.

Alexx’s eyes went wide at the sight of the knife blade. He had to get away from here, but how, and where to? He could pull out his phone but he was pretty sure he’d never get a chance to punch in 9-1-1 before the man would be on him.

He felt the cool metal of coins against his fingertips. Pulling out a handful, he tossed them down the row of cars. They clinked in disharmony, bouncing against the metal. The man turned his head and in that moment Alexx dropped down below the level of the cars. Maintaining his crouch, he duckwalked between the parked automobiles, trying to listen above the overly loud sound of his own breathing.

“Hey, c’mon, cutie.” The man’s voice was too close for comfort. Alexx’s eyes darted below the undercarriages of the
vehicles for any sign of movement, watching for a pair of legs, but it was too dark to see well. With dismay he realized he was about to run out of cars, which meant he’d lose his cover.

“I didn’t mean anything, honestly. Just playing with you. Let’s go have a drink and start over. Let bygones be bygones.”

It was on the tip of Alexx’s tongue to ask what about the knife, but common sense kicked in and he refrained.
Think, think, what’s
on the other side of the club?
He knew there were no other structures nearby. Charisma literally sat in the middle of nowhere.

He vaguely remembered seeing some trees across a field at the end of the parking lot. That didn’t seem the sensible way to go either, especially in the dark.

So what did that leave?

Lost in his own thoughts, he looked up to see the stranger walking directly toward him, lurching between the rows of cars.

Terrified, Alexx fell backward, scraping his hands on the hard surface of the asphalt. He began to scramble backward, as the man advanced toward him, his bulk looming dark against the brightness of the moon. Small rocks embedded themselves in his hands, but he paid no heed to the pain, intent on getting away safely.

He almost fell over backward when, instead of the unforgiving hardness of the pavement his palms encountered the softness of dew-kissed grass. He’d reached the end of the line. Rolling over, he lithely sprang to his feet and began to sprint. He had no choice now. He ran as if his life depended on it. Because it did.

Thanks to the brightness of the moon, he could actually make out the outlines of the trees ahead of him. Where they went or how far, God only knew. He wasn’t familiar with this part of town. He made a mental note to get a detailed map of Crescent Bay tomorrow. If he could.
He didn’t bother to look behind him. He had no doubt he was being chased. At least he felt he needed to make that assumption.