Night Angels (Beast & Beauty) (5 page)

“
Yeah, right...” Kyle ventured to reply. He had no idea what the guy was talking about, he just wanted them out of his way so he could go home. But he could see that wasn't gonna happen any time soon, as one of them had just got off his bike and had lit up a cigarette, walking away from the gang.

The mean looking 'wild' guy crossed his arms and pursed his lips, looking him over slowly like a piece of meat. Then he examined his bike too, his eyes flickering across it briefly, dismissing his lower ranked horsepower as crap, very obviously. The hair stood up on Kyle's neck. Like it had before when he'd seen the wolves. At this precise moment he wasn't sure who he'd rather be facing in this dark lane.

“I guess you'll do,” he added cryptically, scratching at his stubbly chin. “Roxy, you sure about him, babe?” he asked, turning to look at one of the women.

“I'm lookin' and I'm lovin', Tank.”

Kyle stared at Roxy in confusion.

What the fuck was going on? Despite his growing apprehension that whatever was about to go down here wasn't gonna be good, he couldn't fail to notice one very positive thing.

Roxy was the hottest little Hells Angel he'd ever laid eyes on.

Her long light brown hair hung in shimmery waves in the reflected light. Her face was pale, high cheek-boned with thick dark lashes fringing her pretty big eyes. Dark coloured lipstick and a big looped cross strung around her neck gave her the look of a Goth. She was scantily dressed, displaying a lot of skin and cleavage in black shorts and her sleeveless, buttoned up denim Angels vest. She sat proudly on her bike, her slender thighs holding it upright with ease. She was obviously stronger than she looked.

She kicked the stand down and got off her bike with a high kick and strutted the few steps to his side in her chunky high heeled biker boots, her hips swaying sexily.

“Nice bike you have there, real neat. What's your name, babe?” she asked sweetly with a stunning smile and a flash of her gorgeous dark eyes.

“Kyle Brandon. I live just up the road there, at Brandon Manor,” he added, pointing. As if by saying that it would somehow help his situation. Of course, it didn't. It did however seem to be amusing in some way, as they all sniggered. Very unpleasantly.

“Kyle, yeah, I kinda like that.  Kyle, mmmm... sexy...” she mused, her eyes flitting over him in open admiration as she licked her lips.

“And you are Roxy who...?” he asked, desperately trying to keep the conversation going. Talking meant nothing violent was imminent.

“
Just Roxy...” she replied, staring into his eyes.

“
Right...” Of course she wasn't going to give him her surname, was she? He doubted Roxy was her real name either.

“
Come on Roxy darlin', get on with it, I'm hungry,” one of the others piped up in a gravelly low voice. Kyle’s eyes flitted to him and back to her.

“Oh shut up Mutt, give me a moment. I'm getting 'round to it...” she snapped.

Getting 'round to what?

He didn't like the sound of it, no matter what 'it' was.

But he soon found out.

“I've got a thing for you … Kyle. A big thing... You lucky boy.”

To his astonishment, she grabbed his short hair in a vice like grip and yanked his head towards hers. She began kissing him, fiercely.

“Get off me…!” he spluttered against her mouth.

He struggled and tried to pull away, completely shocked, but she was so amazingly strong he couldn't move. He gave up struggling and let her do it, trying not to think. Her tongue forced its way inside his mouth. To his horror he began to get aroused by her insistent, dominant kiss. She licked at his tongue and nipped at his lip, forcing him to play with her. The next moment he couldn't hold back any more and let rip, responding like a madman, devouring her taste and breathing her in. His heartbeat was off the scale with nervous sexual excitement.

What the fuck was the matter with him?

He'd only just dropped Mel off after their wild evening together and here he was getting a hard-on with a complete stranger in a dark lane, in full view of a bunch of weirdo bikers.

He didn't seem to be able to control himself. She had an erotic, mind blowing influence on him that he couldn't ignore.

Her lips left his and travelled down to his neck, licking and nibbling. She sighed and leaned against him, shivering wildly, her free hand suddenly grabbed the bulge in his jeans, massaging it with her fingertips. He was beyond caring anymore. If she was intent on having public sex with him, here and now, what the hell could he do?

A strange creaking snuffling sound arose from her mouth. An inhuman groan followed. He jerked his head sideways in horror and his eyes caught the nightmare vision that made his heart stop beating in a second.

Her face was deformed, and continuing to deform even more, her nose reforming itself into a snout like protrusion. Her eyes were glowing with an amber hue, and she had large teeth emerging, massive canines in fact, and they were growing larger as he watched.

He knew he wasn't dreaming this, and with a deadly chill he now knew exactly what and who they were. They were the wolves in his house. This was the pack.  Although his logical mind had a problem accepting it, he couldn't deny it was happening. The wolves' human-like characteristics now made sense. The odd, guttural noises they made outside the study door. The turning of the door handle, opening doors to let themselves in and out of his house. No wolf could do that. Only people could, people who could change form, like she was doing now. These people were werewolves. That, until now, very fictional story, was suddenly far too real.

He began to struggle, a desperate struggle for his life. He tried yanking his head away, but she had his hair in an iron grip. He put his hands up between them and pushed her with all his worth but she wouldn't budge. He clawed at her, but she grabbed him by the throat, choking him quickly. She dragged him off his bike and down onto the road as his treasured Harley crashed to the ground behind him with a horrendous clatter.  Then she sat astride him, pinning him down with ease, her monstrous face inches from his as he continued to struggle pointlessly. Finally, exhausted, he surrendered, and lay beneath her at her mercy, wide eyed and terrified as the sound of the gangs’ laughter echoed eerily around them. 

“
Stop playing with him, girl...” Tank said loudly.

“
Fuck no... Please?” he begged her, mentally preparing for her to rip out his throat. He didn't understand why she wanted to kill him so much, or why she'd aroused him like this beforehand. But did there need to be any sense to it? He was going to die any second, horribly. What did it matter why?

He shut his eyes and waited for death. But she closed her jaws gently, slowly sinking her newly formed fangs into the curve of his shoulder and neck. He grunted in dire agony, his eyes watering as she bit him, and he felt the pressure of his skin splitting apart beneath her teeth. His head spun in shock.

What was she doing?

The others let out an almighty howling, whooping cheer which rose around them eerily.  He felt her hot breath and a pool of saliva dripping all over his skin and it repelled him beyond words. Then she withdrew her teeth from his flesh, licked the bloody wound clean, and he watched her horrific monster face returning to its pretty former self before his very eyes.

The wound smarted and burned like absolute hell.

“What the fuck have you done to me, you filthy bitch?” He snarled at her, angry, sickened and so afraid.

“I've made you mine,” she said with a wry smile. “Enjoy the experience... We'll be back tomorrow, to pick you up. Because by then,
Kyle
, you'll have nowhere else to go.”

With that, she got off him and re-mounted her bike. They started up the engines, and with a loud collection of long revs, they roared off together leaving him alone on the ground, in pain and terrified of what was to come.

He got up and back on his bike, which seemed to be functioning perfectly well, despite its fall, and shot home as fast as he could, leaving it propped against the garage door in his haste to get inside. He flew up the stairs and into his room, discarding his clothes. Jumping in the shower, he let the water run over his wound for an age. He scrubbed the marks. It was more than sore. It felt like acid had been injected into his skin. He was desperately trying not to consider the facts, but they kept invading his brain. He'd been bitten by a werewolf. He would be like them soon. A violent monster.

And he belonged to her? Roxy, the bitch that did this to him?

Like hell he did...!

But he couldn't help remembering the feel of her mouth on his, her taste, and her fragrance. Worse still, how he'd responded to her.

His life might as well be over. Melanie, his job, his family... It was all dead in the water.

He got out of the shower and dried himself, and then put on a pair of track pants. He went downstairs to the kitchen, to the first aid box, for something to put on the wound. It was still weeping blood. He got out some antiseptic cream and slapped it on, rubbing it in. Then he laughed out loud at his pointless act of hygiene. Was he really rubbing cream in a werewolf bite? This went way beyond a matter of bacterial infection. He laughed over and over until his sides ached and he was crying hysterical tears.

“What the hell's the matter with you?” Chris' voice sounded out next to him.

“Bro... Didn't hear you come in.” He sobered up pretty quickly, rubbing his wet eyes dry.

“How did you get that?” he asked, staring at his bite marks with wide eyes.

“A wolf bit me. Come here and look at this.” He led him into the hallway and showed him the wrecked study door. “Five of them were in here, Chris.”

“
Shit no! I really don't fucking believe it, Kyle.”

“
You never believe anything about me, except the worst. But that's your problem.”

He made his way back upstairs, leaving his brother standing and staring after him. How he enjoyed having had the last word. He smiled wickedly as he turned on the curved staircase and looked down at him. He sniggered.

Let him chew on that.

Melanie texted him twice as he sat at his computer with his phone next to him, looking blindly at the messages.

“Thinking about you”

“A LOT”

Under normal circumstances he'd be texting her back a loaded reply and they'd probably have a very dirty and really enjoyable text chat, but he didn't feel in the mood.

He replied briefly, so as not to upset her.

“
Thinking about you too. Going to sleep now. So tired :)”

Then he switched his phone off.

He so needed to escape the thoughts whirring around in his head right now.

He hardly ever got drunk, not deliberately anyway, but tonight seemed as good a time as any to break with tradition. He rose from his chair and got a few beers out of his cooler fridge. With disappointment he realised that there weren't actually enough bottles to get drunk with. He went downstairs to the drawing room to raid his dad's wine supply. He wouldn't miss a couple of bottles, he had dozens. He grabbed three to be on the safe side, and then made his way back up the stairs. Martha followed him up, but he stopped her. He needed to be alone right now.

“No, not tonight girl... Not tonight,” he said sadly and he left her outside his room and closed the door.

He played some loud, rousing music, through his computer speakers, to get him going and invade his head. The Kings of Leon, 'Sex on Fire'... Very appropriate after the day he'd had.  After putting on a t-shirt, he lounged back on the bed, with his pillow propped up behind him. He unscrewed the cap and sunk a whole bottle of red wine within a couple of minutes, before the track had even ended. God he loved the KoL guys... When it ended, he got up and forwarded to 'Use Somebody' and lay down again... His head was feeling very fuzzy and warm. Suddenly his predicament didn't seem to be quite so bad.

So what if I'm a werewolf… So fucking what?

It wasn't like he was dying or anything. Just a bit different, that's all. A changed state. A new state of awareness... the animal kind.

He opened the second bottle and sipped at it. He'd just have to make the best of things. Maybe he could work something out with Mel, bite her as well, and they could still be together, like a pair of wild dogs.

No, he couldn't do that to her... Fuck! What was the matter with him? Probably a bit drunk, that's what...

He sat sipping until number two was empty, and then, his head spinning like crazy, he decided number three would be a bottle too far. He closed his eyes and drifted off, fast sleep. He didn't care if he had a hangover tomorrow and the next day, or was sick everywhere in the night. At least he wasn't awake, sober and thinking right now.

He awoke with a start. Someone was pounding on his door, shouting... It was Chris.

Damn, did I actually lock the door?

He dragged himself up and staggered over to open it, heavy headed and a little nauseated.

And there, sure enough, stood his brother with Melanie at his side.

“Not a good time,” he said, turning and staggering back to his bed.

“I don't care if it's a good time or not. I want to know how you could do this to me,” Chris demanded, storming into his room and looming over him as he lay on the bed.

“We just did,” he muttered, his head beginning to thump painfully, a stabbing behind his eyes.

“
You just did
? YOU JUST DID....?” His eyes blazing as he boomed at him. “If you weren't my brother I'd fucking kick your ass...” Kyle had never seem his brother so angry. “For God's sake, please tell me it isn't true...” he said, in such a hurt voice that Kyle was almost sorry for him.

Until he remembered Stephanie Church.

Chris didn't seem to be that sorry at all when he'd stolen her from him.

“Chris, look, I'm sorry. I just don't feel that way about you. I tried. Really I did. But I want to be with Kyle,” Melanie said matter of factly, but kindly, giving Kyle a nervous look.

“So you keep saying. But why? What's so special about
him
?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“We get on, we talk, we laugh...”

“But so do we, don't we?” he implored.

“No,” she said coldly.

“I thought we did... Why didn't you talk to me Mel, instead of doing this...?” He looked confused and so saddened that Kyle really was sorry for him now. In fact he actually felt like shit, and not because of his hangover either. A real shit of a brother. Two wrongs didn't make it right, did it?

“
Look, there's nothing more to say. Stop making it even more difficult, we're through, end of...” she said to him finally, with a hard edge to her voice.

“
What time is it?” Kyle asked, trying to diffuse the bad vibes. It was very light outside. Looking at the light made his eyes hurt even more.

“
Eight o'clock, why is the time so fucking important?” his brother snapped.

“Shouldn't you two be at work?”

“Strangely enough, I'm not feeling up to it,” Chris said in a woeful voice.

“Tuesdays I start at ten,” Mel explained.

“I'm gonna have to ask you both to leave. I don't feel at all well,” Kyle said, with the pain behind his eyes worsening. This wasn't like any headache he'd ever had before. He was clammy, and hot. And his shoulder hurt more than ever. He rubbed at it, trying to soothe it a little.

Boy, oh boy... did it ache.... Like hell on earth...

“I don't believe it!” Chris said, picking up one of the empties lying by the side of the bed. “I bought that bottle of vintage Lynch Bage for Dad's Fiftieth birthday. It was two hundred and eighty quid! You've drunk my present! What a prize bastard you are...”

“Didn't know. I'll replace it. Sorry again. Please shut the door when you leave.” He was fighting back the urge to puke and couldn't care less if he'd just drunk the most expensive bottle of wine in the whole world. Perhaps expensive wine was the problem? Maybe it didn't agree with him? He'd make sure he picked cheap wine in the future. If he had a future, that was.

He shot off the bed and just about made it into the en-suite bathroom, slamming the door behind himself in a rush, before he threw up into the toilet bowl. He hung there being violently sick, slumped on the floor. It seemed like his entire body was trying to come out of his mouth. He was so hot and feverish, and his head throbbed like murder. He'd never felt so bad in his whole damn life. After a lot of dry heaving, he managed to drag himself up and over to the sink and splashed his face with water. Mel's voice accompanied a timid knock at the en-suite door.

“You okay in there?”

“No. Really ill. Call you later babe,” he spluttered as another wave of vomiting began.

It went on for hours. He was so weak and dehydrated. But finally it stopped and he left the bathroom. He lay on the bed drained and shivering. His headache was passing too. After resting a while, he got up and opened a can of coke he'd left on his desk for the past week. It was warm coke, but it'd have to do. He guzzled it down, needing the fluids and the sugar it provided inside him desperately. Then he noticed something else. Jeez, he needed a shower so bad, he stunk like a pig. Worse than a pig. All that alcohol sweating out of his system, probably.

He returned to the en-suite and turned on the water, stripping off and scrubbing himself clean. His shoulder felt a little better now. It looked less red, inflamed, and angry. He finished and dried himself, and then he went to dress in clean clothes for the day. He had work to do. He was already two hours late logging on.

He'd just signed in and sent a message of apology about his late arrival to the head of customer services at Quadweb, when it struck.

A pain so intense, he cried out in agony.

He put out his hand and grabbed the side of the desk, dragging himself up and over to his bed yet again. He seemed to hurt everywhere. It was as if his whole body was bulging inside, being pulled and squeezed and reshaped somehow.

What the fuck?... Oh no... Was this it? Am I turning?

He couldn't think what else could possibly hurt this bad.

He lay there as his entire being pulsed with spasms of pain, waves of heat engulfing him, as he watched and waited for something horrific to emerge.

Hair, claws, some changes in his limbs...?

But no... Nothing... Just pain and more pain. Pure torture.

One massive surge of agonising proportions hit him hard inside his chest, around his heart, and his brain shut him down. He fell into the beckoning abyss of blackness gratefully.

His eyes flickered open and he took in the afternoon light streaming in through the window.

And he felt oddly serene.

Turning over, onto his back, he lifted his arms, stretching himself. He picked up his phone from the bedside table, turned it on, and looked at the time. It was three thirty in the afternoon.  Several messages came in, amongst them, one from Mel, and one from Anya. He flicked through and answered Mel briefly, saying he was still sick, and sent Anya a quick reply, and that he'd speak to them both tomorrow.

He sat up, suddenly aware, things were feeling different somehow. His whole body. He'd thought himself to be fairly muscular before, but what he was now was a very different him, judging by the size of his arms. He got up from the bed slowly. A touch light headed for a moment, and made his way over to the wardrobe.

He opened it and stood looking at himself in the mirror, his chest heaving with excitement. His face caught his initial attention and he examined it in detail. His eyes were brighter, his lashes and brows thicker. A dark shade of stubble had sprung up heavily around his jaw, making him look older, more manly, obliterating the boyish look he had before. He couldn't be sure, but his hair appeared to be longer too, by a half inch, maybe. His gaze dropped to his arm muscles. They were so much bigger. He rubbed his hands up and down them, feeling the strong, hard and satisfying bulge of his biceps and triceps. He remembered the Hells Angels men, and how powerful and well-built they all were. This must be a side effect of being bitten, he realised with a start. He pulled off his t-shirt and gazed at his newly reformed upper body with a sense of wonder. He had to admit, there were distinct advantages to being a werewolf. His whole muscular structure had been ramped up all over. His abs were well defined before, but now they were to die for. He dropped his track-pants to look at his thighs. They too were a lot bigger. He did a squat with ease. And then another five. He felt so strong, all over, which was amazing considering he'd spent the last six hours or so either emptying his guts or rolling around in agony. His heart thumped hard as he looked down the front of his boxers.

Christ almighty...!

His dick was definitely bigger too.

He was more than pleased about that muscular development. Who wouldn't be?

More than pleased all round.

If and when he saw that crazy were-bitch Roxy, who did this to him, he might even thank her for this part of it, maybe...

He actually smiled a big happy grin. Despite the whole sad and sorry, horrific situation he was in. You needed to take your pleasure where you could find it, in your darkest hours, he told himself. Thinking positively helped you cope.

He wanted to test himself out, the new and improved strength and endurance that he instinctively knew he now possessed. Perhaps he could try a gentle workout and then go for a short run. He didn't want to do too much, as he was running on empty. A can of coke was all that was fuelling him right now. His stomach growled in reaction to the thought of food and his mouth watered at the prospect of a big juicy steak, tender and rare, covered in delicious smoky barbecue sauce.  Not that he'd find one in the fridge, that was for sure, but that was what he fancied right now.

He picked up a weight, a really heavy one. He didn't use the heavy dumbbells very often. Maybe once a week. He had never particularly wanted to build a lot of muscle before, just keep what he had toned and well developed. But he now realised, with genuine pleasure, that he liked being this new bulkier him. He lifted the weight up from his side to shoulder height, flexing his deltoids at the top of his arms. He did ten more. The weight literally flew up in the air as if it were a handful of feathers.

Absolutely fucking amazing...

He did some rapid bicep and triceps curls. Same thing there. This was an inhuman strength. But then again, that's what he was now, wasn't it? Inhuman. His veins popped up, feeding the newly formed muscle with blood. He chuckled like a crazy guy as he stripped and dressed in shorts and a vest, putting on his trainers and leaving his room.

He ran down the stairs humming the Rocky theme to himself and calling Martha.

“Hey girl, come on... let's go...” Martha came running out of the living room, closely followed by his mother. To his surprise, the dog growled at him and shrunk away, hiding behind his mother's legs. “Martha, come on, don't be silly, it's me...” He approached her but she shot off, back into the living room. He shrugged at his mother as if confused, but in truth he knew why she was avoiding him only too well.

“Surely you're not going out running?” his mother enquired with a look of concern. “I heard you were really sick this morning. Hung-over on Phillip's best wine, no less,” she added accusingly. She cast her eyes over his face and shoulders slowly, as if noticing he looked different, but not quite sure why exactly.

“The wine was a mistake, I'll buy him another.  Look, I'm fine now. It's just for five minutes, and I won't go far, I promise...” he replied, trying to placate her, on all counts.  She stared at his arms, her eyes widening.

“Kyle darling, I have to ask you this. Are you taking bodybuilding steroids? You look a lot bigger than you used to, not so long ago.”

“NO... Of course not. I've been working out more, that's all.”

“Well don't overdo it. Now before you go, I want to talk to you... about Melanie.” she said with a very displeased tone.

“There's nothing to say Mum. We hit it off. She was about to end it with Chris anyways. I just pre-empted it, that's all.”

“He's completely distraught.”

“You're kidding! He goes through women like they're going outta fashion. He'll have another 'Mel' in a few days.”

“No Kyle. He won't. He was very keen on her. He told me he was thinking of settling down with her, you know.”

“
What
? Chris settling down? I can't imagine that for another ten years at least!” he joked outwardly, but inside he felt so bad. He was almost wishing the Melanie affair hadn't happened. He'd help to break the two of them up, and for what? He couldn't carry on seeing her, could he? Not now.

“Well that's what he said to me. And one last thing. About this door,” she said, pointing behind her, “What's all this I hear about wolves coming in here and you being bitten by one?”

“Been having a good old chat with Chris then,” he said in an annoyed tone. The two of them were thicker than thieves. It was funny that it was like that, as Kyle resembled his mother more and Chris, his father. They both seemed to get along with their opposite parent far better.

“It's a tall story Kyle.”

“Look, it was Martha. I was joking with Chris about the wolves. He's got no sense of humour whatsoever, has he? She went a little crazy, scratching at the door, I don't know why. Perhaps it was the full moon rising or something?” he laughed as naturally as he could. “I ticked her off for it, big time.” He felt a bit mean blaming their dog, but he could hardly tell her the truth, could he?

“And she bit you?” his mother asked incredulously.

“No, of course not. Look it's nothing.” He flashed his shoulders, for her inspection. There was literally no trace left of his bite wound now. A few tiny reddened scabs remained. “We had a fun fight later and she caught me with her paw, that's all.”