Desires Unleashed (31 page)

Natasha took the paper, glancing at the number. She smiled, knowing he had trusted her with that information. She looked up at him. “May I ask you something? Can you enter a house without being invited?”

He grinned mischievously. “Yes,” he said, then turned and walked down the hall. When he had reached the stairway, he looked back at her. “Call me. I'll be thinking about you.” He blew her a kiss, then vanished as if he had teleported instantly, startling Natasha who wondered if he had done just that. She would have to ask him about that later. She closed the door, still experiencing mild fatigue. She decided to get some rest and fast. She wanted to be alert for her first day on the job. She walked into the bathroom and took a shower, using her favorite
Anisi's
bath products. She rinsed, toweled off, then put on her pajamas. She climbed into bed, drifting off to sleep the instant her head hit the pillow.

She stood over a prone figure of a woman crying as she lay tied to a metal, blood stained table. The woman was begging for her life. Natasha could hear herself laughing, a deep husky laughter. The laughter was not her own, though it seemed as if it was. She ran huge manly hands over the woman's body, suddenly claws started to extend. The woman screamed and began thrashing against her restraints. The clawed hand stabbed through the woman's stomach, causing the woman to cry out. Thick, dark red blood bubbled then flowed from the wounds made by the clawed fingers. Natasha could feel the woman's skin ripping as the fur-covered, clawed hand disemboweled her while she cried, screamed and begged for her life.

Natasha had never heard anyone scream in agony, true agony. It made her skin crawl. Blood and tissue poured freely from the wound as several yards of intestine came spilling out of the victim's abdomen. Natasha could feel an indescribable hunger rise inside of her caused by the scent of the blood. She could hear the laughter of another, feminine laughter. She looked up to see a beautiful woman with pale skin and long, black hair ending at her thighs, enter the room. She wore a black, leather cat suit with black four-inch heeled boots. Her fangs had extended and her eyes glowed bright red. Natasha felt herself panic, forcing herself to wake up. The first thing she saw were two bright red eyes staring at her through the darkness from across the room. She screamed and quickly turned on the lamp on top of the nightstand. She looked frantically around the room, but the eyes she'd seen were no longer visible. Her sheets were soaked with sweat, her hair was plastered to her face. Her heart pounded in her chest. She felt thirsty. She climbed out of the bed and went to get a glass of water from the bathroom. She drank the water down quickly and just as quickly refilled the glass for a second round. Afterward, she set the glass down on the edge of the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked frightened as she stared at her reflection.

“It was just a dream! Just a dream, you're being ridiculous. Those eyes were just a figment of your overactive imagination. Go back to bed, it was only a bad dream. Everything is okay,” she told herself, feeling herself calming down. Taking several deep breaths, she walked quickly back into her bedroom. She slowly looked around the room, giving everything a thorough inspection. After she made sure she was the only one in the room, she climbed back into bed but was restless and unable to fall asleep. She laid in bed, sheets pulled up to her neck staring at the ceiling. She looked at the clock, the time was 3:42 A.M. she had to get some sleep, she closed her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep.

She was awakened by the TV alarm coming on and the channel seven news was blasting in her ears. She opened her eyes to see the sun was shining brightly into her window. She shielded her eyes and looked at her clock, the time was 7:05 A.M.

“Shit!” she said as she jumped out of the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. She rushed into the shower, brushing her teeth at the same time. Then she hopped out of the shower and toweled herself off as she walked to her closet. She had picked out something really special to wear on her first day at work and she was excited about that. She sat on the bed and pulled on her stockings. She looked up at the TV to see the news anchorwoman announcing another gruesome murder.

“...and the body of what police think may have been a woman, was found today in an alley located at 55th and Garfield. It was reported that the head was missing and the body was devoid of some of its internal organs. S.U.I.T detectives are on the scene. Let's go live to Brian, who is at the scene right now and has one of the detectives with him. Brian?” the anchorwoman announced as the camera cut to Brian, an African American male with a bald head, wearing a long, brown trench coat. He was pressing his ear piece closer so that he could listen for his cue.

“That's right, Amanda, I have with me right now, Detective Warren Davis from the government's Special Unit Investigation Team. He and his partner, Detective Matthew Eric, have been on these gruesome and disturbing cases since Friday.” He put the microphone into the face of the handsome detective. “Detective, do you have any information for us?” Natasha looked at Detective Davis, wondering where all of these beautiful men were suddenly coming from. She loved looking at hot cops, what woman didn't like a man in uniform? Especially one as physically fit as this one. She stopped her dirty thoughts long enough to listen to what he had to say.

“Well, it is pretty early in this investigation, we have a few leads but nothing concrete. We'll keep you posted. That is all for now, thank you,” he said as he walked away. Natasha felt her throat tighten. The dream she had last night was really weird. She would never have dreamed that, would she? Maybe it was because she ate pizza before going to bed. Maybe it was her lack of medication. She shook her head, she wouldn't dwell on that. She had a big day ahead of her, she had to go to work then go visit her friend in the hospital. She put on the rest of her clothes, a black, wool-blend skirt with matching double breasted jacket, a white, pullover satin shell underneath. She checked herself over in the mirror. Aside from the bandages, and a few dark, purplish bruises here and there on her face, she was satisfied with the finished result. She grabbed her keys, her purse and left for work.

CHAPTER
17

T
his fucking son-of-a-bitch is pulling our damn chains!” Warren cursed through his teeth as he climbed into his truck, slamming the door shut. He sat in the truck trying to regain control over his anger. Matthew slid into the seat beside him, staying silent, not wanting to keep Warren inflamed by asking questions. When Warren had finally calmed down, Matthew spoke.

“This wolf, do you think he might be watching us now? Think he's in the area?”

Warren shook his head. “Not likely. I would have caught his scent, but I'm sure the bastard's watching the fucking news and probably laughing his fucking ass off! We look like fools. We have nothing to go on. I've scanned the crime scene, practically putting my fucking nose to the ground and can't find shit! They picked their spots wisely, like the shoulder on the side of a busy street. They do it for fun and, well, it's like this.” He turned in the seat so that he was facing his partner. “You got exhibitionists who fuck in public for fun. It's the excitement that they might get caught even though they don't want to, but the thought of getting caught adds more excitement. Only with a murderer like this, he's killing these people in one place and then putting the bodies in public locations, leaving little or no traces. They know what they're doing. That fur left on the body the other day wasn't an accident, they wanted us to find it!”

“Why do you think it’s taking the heads?” Matthew asked. He didn't like this case one bit. Warren was right, they were working with professionals. The kind of killer that sometimes takes years to capture. The kind that liked the chase, that liked eluding the cops for the thrill of it.

“Trophies. I'm willing to bet that somewhere there's about three heads, shit, maybe more, mounted on a wall with blood dripping from their torn necks. When they put the body on the side of the road like that, they did it in the middle of the night. Probably around two or three in the morning, not many people driving along the road at that time. Most won't stop nor do they care why a car is pulled over on the side of the road. So that allows them the excitement of getting rid of a body in the open public and no one seeing anything. I can't fucking understand why this wolf is shredding these bodies to pieces and I can't find a scent to trace.” He shook his head, perplexed. He turned back in his seat and started the engine.

“Let's go back to headquarters to see what they may have found on the body from this morning,” Matthew suggested. This case was really frustrating him. They now knew for certain that this was another serial killer case, like that child murdering freak from a few years back. And
he
had been
human.
Matthew didn't know what to expect from a serial killing werewolf.
Would now be a good time to retire?
Matthew speculated.

“I looked over the body, thoroughly. I don't know how much more Marshall's going to find,” Warren said as he drove down the crowded streets, beeping his horn at people who didn't seem to care that he had the right-of-way. The rudeness of some people annoyed him. He drove back to headquarters, only stopping once along the way to pick up some of his favorite donuts. He and Matthew ate a few on the way, leaving the box in the truck. They entered the elevator and pressed the button to the lower level. Once they reached their destination, they exited the elevator and turned down the gloomy hallway toward the morgue, walking through the double doors. They saw Marshall Galen, bent over the remains of the female corpse that was discovered earlier that morning. He was wearing a light blue t-shirt and a pair of brown worn-out jeans that slightly sagged off of his waist.

This man really needs a makeover,
Warren thought as he walked over to the corpse. Matthew stayed a few paces back while his partner glanced at the mutilated body. Matthew had avoided getting a good look at the body at crime scene. The sight of the insides hanging out all torn and shredded made his stomach turn.

He walked away, gagging, both Warren and Marshall glancing up, watching him. Warren wondered if Matthew was going to puke. Matthew struggled with his nausea, then turned around facing Warren, taking deep breaths. Warren could see Matthew's flesh turn a pale green.

“Are you okay, buddy?” he asked.

Matthew nodded. “Yeah, I'll be alright, let's just do this,” he said. Warren was intrigued by what could turn a person's stomach. For instance, if he saw anyone eating anything molded, spoiled, or rotten, he would become instantly nauseous. He once saw a movie where the actor supposedly ate a chicken wing that was spoiled to the point where the meat was green and a greenish gelatinous substance had formed on it, Warren barely made it to the bathroom in time. Still to this day, just thinking about that particular movie made him sick to his stomach. Needless to say, he never finished watching it. Warren looked at his partner one last time, then turned to face the corpse.

Marshall Galen had discovered very little. “Whoever is doing the killings, they're covering their tracks better than anyone I've ever seen. This killer damages the bodies far too much for anything to be recognizable. Look at these entrails.” He held up a handful of intestine, bits and pieces of torn flesh and globs of dried blood slid off and plopped back into the exposed abdomen. Warren felt his mouth filling with saliva. He didn't want to take any deep breaths, that would only make it worse. From behind him came an ugly sound, followed by the sound of retching. He turned around to see Matthew leaning over the sink, puking up his breakfast. Marshall looked up frowning and shook his head. He thought these specially trained cops would be used to this type of stuff. And here is one of the best cops on the unit, barfing in his stainless steel sink.
He
knew one thing, he wasn't going to clean it up!

Matthew had finished retching and turned on the faucet, rinsing his mouth as he rinsed away all of the vomit. His face was pale, but he could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, embarrassed to have lost his breakfast. He was known to have a cast iron stomach but the conditions of this last victim sickened him.

“Feeling any better? Do you want to wait outside?” Warren asked in a slightly teasing voice. “Do you need to lay down, put your feet up, want a pillow?” He chuckled. Matthew grimaced at him, flipping him the finger as he headed for the double doors. Warren chuckled again before getting back to the business at hand. “So what do you think, Doc?” he asked.

“Well, I think this shifter is playing around with you guys. The intestines are ripped to shreds and the spleen and kidneys are missing. The killer ripped into the stomach and you can say 'fished around' for the goodies, so to speak. You two got a real sick puppy on your hands, literally.” Marshall removed a handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to wipe his glasses clean.

“I'm thinking this killer is keeping the heads for trophies and he may be eating the organs. Did you find any fur or anything like that?”

“Nope, this was a clean job, well as clean as it can be. There aren't any prints on what's left of this body, no fur, not even an eyelash. Too bad the DNA lab can't track down your boy based off of that fur we found the last time,” Marshall said.