Wolf: A Military P.A.C. Novel (7 page)

Michael
thought about the question. “Am I a wolf?” he asked.

Her forehead crinkled. “Wolf inside. My choice.”

“What is Faelon?” Michael said, smiling.

“Faelon, wolf, always.”

“Faelon’s human too. Black wolf human too?” Michael asked.

“More than wolf, now. Not human, ever.”

Michael thought he understood, and then pointed at his shoulder wound. “This is healed. How?”

Faelon moved back his jacket and touched the scab that would soon flake off to show new pink skin
, then licked the skin at his neck. “The way of wolves,” she said.

“Most animals, Faelon, not humans.”

“How humans heal?”

“Slowly.”

“Michael fast.”

“No. Faelon did this.”

He saw the understanding reach her eyes. They widened, showing more of the golden brown he loved so much. She put her hand to her full lips; her tongue darted out leaving her fingertips moist.

“
Michael not wolf.”

“No.”

“Why?” she said.

For a moment,
Michael didn’t understand, and then he knew what Faelon meant. She’d said the black wolf was more than a wolf, now! But not human. What did that mean for him?

“I
. . . I don’t know, Faelon.”

He kissed her again, lingering over her lips as he watched her eyes. The same full stare they had shared when they first met. Faelon lowered her eyelids and melted into his chest, her hands and naked body warm enough to keep him from the cold.

“There’s a ridge on the other side of the house. Together we should be able to dump the body of the horse, out of the way where it won’t draw any predators. I have to clean the stall out and then fix the door, somehow.”

“Not eat prey.”

“I don’t want to eat this prey. Besides it’s too much, Faelon. We could freeze it in the snow, or the stasis cooler, but we have food. Once that’s done, I want to teach you how to fight . . .” He watched her face, knowing what she was going to say, “. . . like a human would. And then we have some questions to answer.”

“Questions,” Faelon said, drawing the word out slowly.

“Yes, like who wants to kill me, what to do with the wolf trying to kill us, and what we want to do about the military.”

“Pack?”

“Yes, Faelon. That’s a good question. How do we fight the pack?”

Chapter 12 Hillman

Blackwater was a new opportunity. A place where nobody knew him. He could become any personality he wished. Verbally tough—his size didn’t allow for physical aggression, not really. But his dad hadn’t been of a large stature. It was his voice that was big. Commanding. He decided he could borrow that from his father. Jacob swore though, and for most people that diminished their influence if used at the wrong times. His mother never swore. She was always polite, and Gerund had seen that as the best threatening attitude of all. It made people think.

So the man that walked into the offices of Blackwater Inc
., with the information on how to enhance a soldier in the field, didn’t come across as weak even though he was as small as most teens or even a number of women. He used his voice and his eyes to make a point. He developed new personal strategies. He always said hello to associates, took a moment to comment on a person’s strength, but took note of weaknesses. He kept those in a spreadsheet, a memory of everyone’s faults that he could pull out in the right circumstances. He started to advance in the company.

Gerund Hillman watched the satellite feed on his P.A.C. The hologram
once again took up most of the view of one corner of his large office. The wrap-around window looked over the Manhattan skyline from one end of the Island. Blackwater Ltd. did a brisk business. Most people used the AmeraCorp nickname that had become popular.

“Show me the black wolf again.”

“From which viewpoint?”

Gerund didn’t attack his father’s reincarnated identity for asking questions this time. He was too absorbed to care. “Just before he tears through the door of the stable. Slow it down to quarter speed as well.” Gerund walked through a stable post to see the action of the hologram all the better. The satellite view was from an angle as it passed over Michael Scott’s house. In a few minutes, the overhang of the mountain would hide the view again.

He watched the wolf tear through the wooden slats of the door as if it was more like smoke than a rough-hewn board. The claws of the animal ripped huge strips of lumber from the timbers. Its teeth, ordinary looking for all their size, gouged the material as if it were cotton candy. The growls from its throat sounded like thunder. In slow-motion playback, the animal tore its way into the stable. Once a hole had been made, it used its teeth to pull the rest of the planks from the metal strapping of the entrance. And then it was inside. The horses screamed with fright and the shod hooves of the animals struck stone and sparked in the narrow confines of the cave adding an eerie light to the already bizarre scene. Michael Scott ran into view. Light flared in the cave.

A complete opposite to Gerund’s physique, Michael was two met
res tall and one hundred and twenty-five kilos of solid muscle. Gerund would look like a child in comparison. A large child, at one-point-six metres and sixty-eight kilograms, but still.

Gerund was jealous. Something he wouldn’t admit, even to his P.A.C.

Then the gun in Michael’s hand had gone off. And his P.A.C. had shown up, and Gerund was still uncertain how the technology could be a woman and a wolf. But there was no other explanation. A woman couldn’t survive in that weather nude, and wolves don’t help humans.

“Any results on the military model
?” Gerund asked the machine.

“No direct results.” 

“That confirms a military connection.”

“There is no proof
. . . .”

“Shut the fuck up, Jacob.”

The machine called Jacob did as he was told, knowing that it would not have to be silent for long.

“Get a squad together. Have them read
Michael’s dossier and put together a battle plan to take him alive. A comatose state due to injuries is acceptable, providing it’s temporary. Tell them he may have a woman or a wolf travelling with him. Do not tell them they are the same thing or that they are a P.A.C. unit.”

“There is no
. . . .”

“Shut the
. . . .”

Silence settled into the office.

Gerund had one further thought: the black wolf must be a P.A.C. unit as well. But who had it gone rogue from? Huer? Boyen? Ariyan? And why was it hunting down Michael?

Chapter 13 Michael

Tiny is a name that has come to mean the opposite for many men. An oxymoron. Opposite to the word fatso, or bitch, or even asshole, because those invariably mean just what they are in relation to the person holding them. When Michael stepped into the recruiting office for the Canadian Army, the sergeant on duty looked him in the eye and said, “I get a Tiny every month. So far this month I got a fatso, a bitch, and an asshole.” His accent said he was from Ontario and that at one time he spoke French. He smiled, put out his hand, one that engulfed most peoples. “Today I got me my Tiny.”

Michael looked down on him with a stare and a handshake that could have left his fingers crushed. “No sir, my name is Michael Scott.”

The sergeant tried to pull his hand back. It didn’t work for some reason. The smile that came after that effort was just as intimidating. Not for the amount of teeth it showed, but for the feral grin that said this man could kill. Easily. The sergeant didn’t know if that was true, but at the same time, he didn’t want to find out. “Right, Michael, we have some papers for you to sign.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Decisions, Michael,” Faelon said. She had settled onto the couch the way a dog would, limbs extended in front of her for support, her chin on the back of her forearms. Her legs curled under her. Her face showed confusion.

“Yes. It’s still early enough in the year to leave the mountains. If I wait a month
, I’m here until the spring thaw.” Michael sat on the floor, near her head where he could look at her or touch her, kiss her if the need arose.

“Leave Faelon?”

“No, beloved. That’s part of the decision. If you want to stay until spring, I will. We should be safe here, for that time. But I have to leave to hunt my enemies.”

“Doctor your enemy?” Faelon said.

He watched her awareness, the glint of colour in her eyes that shifted with her thoughts. She remembered everything. “No, no, I think his family—his pack—was threatened, so he would do what my government wanted.”

“Government?”

“The leader of my pack.”

“Must do what leader does,” Faelon said.

“What if the leader is wrong?”

“Then fight alpha.”

“My leader is many alphas and they do things to make themselves right.” Faelon’s confusion returned. “There are so many to the human pack that . . . a small pack has a leader, a larger pack has another leader. All of these packs work together, one alpha taking orders from another.”

“Humans get nothing done this way?” said Faelon.

“Surprisingly, yes. But, not as much as could be done. Many of the packs fight for what they think is right, regardless of the alpha involved.”

Her brow crinkled more and the lines around her eyes turned into crow’s feet. “Faelon follow
Michael.”

“Humans won’t understand Faelon being a wolf,”
Michael said.

“Then, be wolf always.”

“In some places that would work. In many, no. Faelon must be human sometimes. Wear clothes, eat like human. And even fight like human.”

“Faelon fight good.”

“Show me.” Michael stood up. Faelon leapt from the couch to stand on her feet. A move not possible for anyone normal, and if they could pull it off, it wouldn’t have the same grace. “No teeth, no claws. Humans fight with fists, feet, elbows, knees.” He pushed the furniture out of the way.

“Fist?”

Michael curled his hand up in slow motion, making sure to show the proper position of the thumb.

“Ah, like trap place.” Faelon said.

A twinge of guilt assailed him, and then Michael felt the impact to his jaw before he saw Faelon’s movement. Too fast, way too fast. He fell backward.

“No teeth, no claws,” she said.

“I guess I deserved that.” Michael rubbed at his jaw. He felt lucky it wasn’t broken; with Faelon’s strength that was a likely outcome.

Faelon cocked her head at him.

He got to his feet, feeling clumsy next to his mate. “This time, move slow. You’re stronger than a human, beloved. Stronger than me.”

“
Michael alpha.”

“Still. I’m going to show you what is called a Kata. It’s a series of fighting movements. Watch. This one is against a single opponent, one facing you.”

Michael went through the motions. He emphasized force and fluidity when it was needed. He stepped back from Faelon. “Now you do it.”

She moved with a stunning surety, her actions an almost a perfect match to his.

“Damn. It took me a month to learn a Kata that well.” He shook his head. “I’m going to use the attack on you now, Faelon. With no strength involved. Please do the same.” He rubbed at his jaw again.

“Okay
, Michael.” Her feral grin was back. Her weight rested easy on the balls of her feet, a mirror of his stance. He threw a punch. She blocked it. He swept her feet out from under her; she landed on all fours like a cat, then pivoted on one arm and returned the move. Michael rolled backwards into a crouch, braced himself, and kicked out at her. She wasn’t there. A punch landed in the small of his back. He blocked her arm back, twisted, and then palmed her chest, pushing her backwards. She flipped over and landed on her feet, the grin never leaving her face. Michael side stepped to the right and threw a left-handed punch at the last second. Faelon blocked it and slammed a punch into his ribs. They would have broken had she used all her strength. He hissed in his breath, dropped his fist onto her arm, and backhanded her. Or would have if she hadn’t ducked. She slammed into his chest, dropping him to the floor. Her teeth found his forearm; it would have been his neck if he hadn’t realized . . . wolves in a pack fought symbolically as much as for real. He flipped her over, his other hand wrapped around her neck. She released the grip of her teeth, licked the back of his arm, a giggle rising up from her throat.

“
Michael good wolf.”

“No. Faelon is better,”
Michael said.

“Inside,
Michael alpha. Outside Michael not-wolf.”

“Not werewolf.”

“What, were?”

“I think that’s what you are, Faelon. Human and wolf together.”

“Faelon just is, Michael.”

“Faelon is just beautiful.”
Michael kissed her then. For a long time. Touched her in other ways, slowly, without mating, but every touch increased his own desire for the not-wolf in his arms.

“And that is foreplay, beloved.”

“I like foreplay, Michael,” Faelon said.