The Beast Within (11 page)

“You okay?” Aaron pulled back enough to look at his partner. He knew he should climb off, but his limbs refused to obey his commands. Instead, he remained where he was and stared like a fool at his partner.

“Yeah. Just got a root or something in the back. Hurts.”

“Let me see.” He grabbed Tony’s shoulder and pulled.

“I’m fine,” Tony protested, but raised his torso for Aaron to see. His abdomen rippled under the thin white T-shirt he wore.

Aaron clamped down on the wave of lust the sight aroused and instead focused on peering over Tony’s shoulder. “No blood.” He ran a hand down Tony’s back. “Yeah, you’ve got a lump here. Probably going to be a big bruise.”

“It’s all right.” Tony’s voice sounded odd.

“What’s wrong?” He moved back to get a better view of his partner.

“I’ve ruined it.” Tony gestured helplessly at how Aaron’s legs spread across his lap, groin pressed against his lower stomach, one hand braced against the ground, the other still cradling his back. “It’s what I do. I act stupidly and ruin my chances. And then I make a joke about it.”

“Tony…”

“Nothing to joke about now.” Tony gently extracted himself and stood. He attempted a smile. It cracked against the wretched backdrop of his face. “It’s okay. I’m good.”

Aaron couldn’t think of anything to say, so he turned and started toward the spot the three weres had come from. Their scents were stronger in that direction, which meant they were walking away from their camp, not toward it. Or, at least he hoped.

The brush grew thicker. Thorny vines riddled the narrow gaps between the trees. They picked their way carefully, silently, through the foliage. After another ten minutes’ walking, the moss-covered roof of a building came into view. Buried within a mass of kudzu vine and brambles sat a battered, wooden single story structure. A ground level porch spanned the front of the building. A pair of grimy windows and a metal door punctuated the facade. It seemed a building more suitable as a hideout for drug runners—or renegade werewolves—than even the most rugged outdoorsman’s woodland retreat. A myriad of scents lingered in the air, but none of them as fresh as those belonging to the three recently departed weres. Aaron placed a hand in front of Tony, signaling him to stop.

“I think it’s empty right now, but I should shift and get a closer view,” he said.

“What if it’s not? Won’t they smell you?”

“It’s easier for me to run in wolf form if I need to, and they’ll smell me just as much shifted as not. Even if I come across a were or two, it’ll unlikely be the alpha, which means no one will be able to challenge me in wolf form.”

“And what if they just pull out a bunch of guns?”

“Well, then they shoot at me.”

“I don’t like it,” Tony groused.

“I’m not a big fan of it, either, but I don’t know what else to do. You move quiet enough for a human, but to a werewolf’s ears you might as well be open-mouthed crunching potato chips in an art museum.”

“What if I take off my shoes?”

“Slightly stale potato chips.”

“Oh.” Tony frowned. “I always thought I was good at the covert stuff.”

“Like I said, you are—for a human. Werewolf hearing is at a completely different level.” Aaron took off his weapons, then bent down and pulled his shoes and socks from his feet. “And if any of them are in the cabin, then I need to be the one approaching it. They might mistake my scent for another of their own.”

Tony’s expression said he didn’t buy his bluff.

“Just keep your weapons ready in case.”

Tony unslung his tranq rifle, slid the bolt into place then put it back over his shoulder. Aaron continued stripping. He warmed under Tony’s surveillance, suddenly, terribly uncomfortable. He looked up, sensing the sorrowful expression before he saw it.

“They don’t even ache anymore.” He gestured to the mass of puckered scars lining his torso and legs. “If I had been a were when I got these they would have healed into perfect skin. But, since these were my transforming bites, they didn’t… But they don’t hurt, just tingle sometimes. They’re mostly just ugly now.”

Tony studied them for a long moment before replying, “I don’t mind them.”

Aaron would have usually flinched at another’s direct mention of his scars, but the way Tony said it, so simply and honestly, took away the usual sting. He swallowed against the knot in his throat and pulled off his underwear. As if his scars weren’t enough cause for feeling more naked than naked, casually standing in front of the man he desperately desired with his cock hanging out sent a flood of heat into his cheeks. Tony appraised his body, slowly, sensually. Aaron thanked the heavens he was a shower and not a grower—or worse, a shrinker.

“When I give the all clear, you can come on up,” he said, bundling his clothes into Tony’s arms. “And bring these with you, or it’ll be a naked house search.”

“And if I should drop a key article or two?” Tony asked lightly.

“Just look away, please.” Aaron gave a low growl and let the dark thing inside him rise with the sound.

As Tony made a pretense of studying the cabin, Aaron let the transformation pull him to his knees. His body re-shaped itself as if it were made of clay. The agonizing tearing and popping of his joints and bones made him wish it were. Within a few moments, however, the pain eased and he sniffed the ground in front of him simply for the joy of taking in the hundreds of subtle layers of scent the forest floor provided.

“Hi, again,” Tony said above him. “Your fur is prettier in the sunlight than it was in my place. Lots of variations in that black coat I didn’t see before.”

Aaron looked up at his partner. Tony held his revolver lightly in his right hand, clutched Aaron’s discarded clothes and handgun in the other arm.

Aaron gestured to the pile, where his boxer briefs sat in a crumpled heap on top.

“Yeah, I’ll try to bring these, too, but they’re kinda small.” Tony grinned. “I might lose them in the fray.”

Aaron growled and nipped at Tony’s leg, coming close enough to brush his trouser leg, nothing more. Even so, he gave a wag of his tail to show he meant no real aggression. Sometimes it was hard for humans to get past the whole wolf thing. Little Red didn’t do much to help that particular cause. He turned and ducked into the undergrowth.

“Be careful,” Tony softly called out behind him, all traces of levity gone from his voice.

The clumps of vine and brush gave excellent cover all the way to the side of the porch. He stopped, tested the air with his nose. Satisfied no one was around, he placed his front paws on the rotted decking boards and slid under the rails. He glanced back at the forest. He could smell Tony, but no one else. His heart pounded, but it was the wolf’s excitement at the potential hunt, and not his human fear, that spurred the sensation. The dark thing hoped other wolves prowled the unlit interior of the building. It wanted a fight. Wanted blood in its mouth. The problem was, it was Aaron’s mouth, too, and he had no interest in tasting human flesh. And that was what it was, regardless of what Six Rivers believed. Beneath the curse, disease, whatever the fad was to call it, weres were still humans.

He crossed toward the first window. Dirt caked it in such thick layers it was opaque. He moved to the next, careful to give a wide birth to the closed door. This window was as filthy as the previous, but a small corner of glass had broken out of the lower pane. Aaron stood on his hind legs and peered through the opening. No bodies moved inside. A small closet had lost its door at some point. Junk tumbled unchecked out of the recess and spilt across the floor. The only other visible room was an unoccupied small bathroom in the far corner.

He dropped to all fours then turned to face the location of Tony’s cover. He lifted up onto his haunches once again, and pawed at the air like a dog trying to ‘shake’. It was the closest thing to a wave he could muster. The intended message conveyed, because a moment later Tony began working through the brambles. To his ears the sound was like a bear pirouetting across matchsticks.

“All clear?” Tony asked as he appeared from the shrubs, looking like some sort of mythic adventurer on a laundry errand. The tranqs dangled from each side of him like a pair of gigantic earrings. Aaron’s clothes and weapon were bundled under his arm. His service weapon hung freely in his grip. He swung up onto the porch and made his way to the door. It was locked.

“People don’t lock things they don’t care about. They’re staying in this dump.,” Tony said. He placed Aaron’s clothes on the porch floor, holstered his weapon and began to dig in his pocket. “I can pick it, if you want to go ahead and shift. I’ll need thirty seconds.”

Aaron relaxed his mind and let the transformation take him. As the usual pain took over, he began to panic. He had forgotten to tell… No, he hadn’t. He had
omitted
his temporary weakness after shifting back into human form. Part of him still didn’t trust Tony, and revealing to an Acqxterm agent a crucial werewolf weakness was something he couldn’t muster. Once again, he would have to pretend everything was fine. His shift finalised and the usual barrage of unsettling thoughts raged into his skull.

“And what if the wolves return before you can leave, mi hombre?”
Considering Aaron had been talking about slaughtering weres, Carlos’ voice was a startling appearance as devil’s advocate. “
You will be weak. You and your partner could be killed.”

“It’s a risk I had to take. For us.”

“There is no ‘us’ anymore, mi hombre.”

“There is a werewolf ‘us’.”

“No, beautiful man, there isn’t.”

He was lying face down on the floor, arms splayed out at his side. His mind spun as if he had been drinking for the past several hours. He wasn’t sure if it was the shift, or his imagined conversation with Carlos. The change from wolf mind to human mind oftentimes brought out suppressed thoughts and emotions. While the imaginary Carlos’ implication that he was not part of the werewolf clan was unsettling, his subconscious insecurity would have to wait. He pushed onto his knees. His arms trembled with the effort. In front of him, Tony cursed mildly and worked the lock with a tension wrench and pick. Aaron grabbed his clothes and staggered to his feet. By the time he had one leg in his underwear, the lock gave way with a click.

Tony turned, a triumphant smile on his face. It faded when he saw Aaron. “You look like shit.”

“Rough change,” he answered as he struggled to control his shaking foot enough to land it in the other leg opening.

“No, you looked this bad last night, too. After you were done.”

“It’s because I’m new. The shift is hard on me. And it’s not a full moon.” It was a half-truth, an admission that protected his clan, yet allowed him to conceal the worst of his guilt behind a guileless expression.

“Should’ve told me that before we started. Could be real trouble if we get in a pinch.” Tony grabbed his arm and helped him inside. He seated him in a chair and began to slide his legs into his pants.

“Sorry,” Aaron replied. He allowed himself to lean on Tony’s shoulder as his partner slid socks and shoes onto his feet. “It was my mistake.”

“I can’t blame you. You’re a seal swimming in a shark tank. The fact you get a paycheck for it still doesn’t negate the—”

“Stupidity?”

“I was going to say, ‘Need for caution’.” Tony handed him his shirt and let him finish dressing as he checked the windows for signs of outside movement. “We look clear, but who knows when they’re coming back. You up to doing some searching?”

Aaron nodded and stood. He buttoned his jeans and fixed his holster in place. Tony pulled one of the tranqs off his shoulder and passed it to him.

“I’ll take right, you take left. Keep checking the windows.”

While Tony rifled through the kitchenette, Aaron shifted his focus to the burgeoning closet. Clothes of many different types and sizes lay piled in forgotten heaps. A layer of dust had settled across the topmost layer. He searched the most apparent pockets then abandoned the task. Whatever the Six Rivers clan was doing was recent, and this pile had been untouched long enough that most of the owners’ scents had gone from the fibers. Another jumble of fabric lay in the corner beyond. He moved over to inspect it. Here was the scent he had expected from the closet. The stench of were filled the jumble of shredded blankets, worn sheets and old coats. This was where the Six Rivers spent their nights, in a dog pile at the back of their lair.

“They’re sleeping here,” he said over his shoulder. “This isn’t the comfort-loving clan Carlos was talking about.”

“Probably has something to do with this.” Tony held up a battered piece of parchment he had pulled from a lidded tin. “What’s that say up at the top there?”

“It’s demonic.” Aaron came closer and scowled at the lettering.

His crash courses in demonic languages took place mainly in the field, as there were too many tongues with too many dialects for an agent in a twelve-month training course to even begin studying. Those who wished to be translators skipped early field internships for the opportunity to learn a chosen language set, but even they never really mastered more than one language out of a hundred thousand. A number of signatures, looking as if they were penned in blood, filled the bottom third of the page. A symbol he didn’t recognize sat beneath the scrawled names. He flipped the document over.

“Here, on the back. It’s a sticky note. Looks like someone jotted down the key points to remember.”

“Seriously? Wow, these guys are really not bright,” Tony said. He began reading over Aaron’s shoulder. “Bill of Renunciation. Dated a month before the Kapre California attack, calling all true weres to rid themselves of humanity’s shackles and live like the wolves nature intended them to be, and to convert or exterminate any recalcitrant shifters.”

“Look here. Goes well with this, I’d think.” Tony held up a small bound book, opened to a page. He held up it up for Aaron to see.

“Pocket grimoire,” Aaron replied.

“Not just for any old wart-removing spells, though. This one is a summoning spell. A big one.”

“So, the wolves have decided become nature-lovers and slaughter any weres that disagree.”