The Wolf in His Arms (The Runes Trilogy) (15 page)

Haley
looked into the odd green of his eyes beautiful yet wondrous in their uncanny
color. “Did you know he was coming last night?”

“I
just, it’s like I can get a feeling when something bad’s about to happen.” Maxwell
shook his head. “It doesn’t always work.” Maxwell sat up. “I try to block it.
It takes a lot of effort.”

“Well,
don’t,” Haley said. “It’s gonna help us stay a step ahead of that psychopath.”

“I
can’t keep putting you in danger.”

“Even
if we separate, he might still come after me, because I’ve seen him. No. I’m
sticking with you. It’s my best bet.”

“Maybe
we shouldn’t stay with Sue.”

Haley
considered. “Just tonight.” She stood. “I need to get some clothes. Then we
need to get our bearings and make a plan.”

Maxwell
stood and hugged her. “Thank you.”

She
petted the side of his face. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

*
         
*
         
*
         
*

 
“It’s going to take about five more hours to
Chicago,” Alec said, checking the GPS. Alec was taking a turn driving. “Want me
to let you guys sleep?”

“Lucy’s
already asleep?” Jared said, his eyes closed in the passenger seat.

Alec
glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that Lucy was in fact asleep in the
backseat. ‘How’d you know?”

“Her
breathing.”

Alec
nodded, concentrated of the soft rhythm of her breathing. “I see.” He looked at
Jared out of the corner of his eyes. “You should sleep too.”

“I
can’t. Too geared up.” Jared opened his eyes and sat up. He shook out the
wadded shirt and lifted it to his nose. He took a deep breath.

“What
do you see this time?”

“They’re
on the street again.”

“See a
street sign?”

“No,”
Jared said, his eyes closed, his voice tight. “Brick buildings. Wait. They just
passed a sculpture of some sort.”

From the
back seat, Lucy groggily asked, “Are you getting something?”

“Sorry
to wake you,” Alec said, glancing at her in the mirror.

“No
worries.”

Jared
opened his eyes. “The sculpture. I don’t know how to describe it exactly,” he
said, sounding perplexed.

“Try,”
Alec encouraged.

“It was...phallic.”

“It was
a penis?”

“Not
exactly. It was covered in different colored circles,” Jared continued.

“Like hula
hoops?”

Jared
tired of being delicate. “It looked like a cock stacked with rainbow colored
cock rings.”

“They’re
on Halsted Street,” Alec affirmed.

“What?”

“Boystown,
Chicago. Those sculptures are in the gay neighborhood. They’re on Halsted.”

“How do
you know that?” Jared asked.

“I did
have a life before I met you. And there’s no place like Boystown,” Alec said
with a devilish smirk.

“You
weren’t out all that long before we met.”

“Long
enough,” Alec teased.

Lucy
poked her head between the seats. “What’s a cock ring?”

Alec
cringed. “I’m not explaining cock rings to my sister.”

Jared
turned to face Lucy. “Look it up.”

Lucy
settled back into the backseat and quickly performed an Internet image search
for “cock ring.” A flood of images filled the screen of her phone. “So
that’s
a cock ring.” She flipped her
phone to change the size of the image. “What’s it for?”

“For
discussing with someone other than your brother,” Alec said.

“Sor-ry,”
Lucy teased. “You don’t have to be such a cock ring about it.” She and Jared
both laughed.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*

Maxwell
had met Sue a handful of times while she and Haley dated. He had never been to
her condominium, however. Ample windows and a spacious balcony afforded an
amazing view of the street. As Maxwell entered, he tried not to show how incredibly
impressed he was but cooed, “You have a wonderful place.”

Sue
simply nodded, and Maxwell remembered Haley’s “complaint” about Sue. The
taciturn woman could not match Haley’s gift for gab. Haley tended to date older
women with money. But never for very long. Her reputation as a heartbreaker was
growing. Soon she will work her way through every middle-aged lesbian in
Chicago, Maxwell thought wryly. Oh how he adored her!

Maxwell
stood at the glass doors leading to the balcony, watching the traffic and
pedestrians. Haley was making nice with Sue and thanking her for her
hospitality. “I saw it on the news,” Sue said. “I was like, ‘Shit, that’s
Haley’s place.’” She lowered her voice into a gruff whisper, “So, what’s this
about? Is your roomie into drugs or something?”

“What?
No,” Haley protested. “He doesn’t even smoke pot. He’s a total goody-goody.
He’s from Iowa.”

Maxwell
cringed a little. He knew the last line was a dig. Haley was from Chicago and
declared herself the true urbanite, knowing Maxwell’s rural roots. Usually, it
didn’t bother him. But, occasionally, he reminded her she was from the suburbs.
“The guy’s some kind of stalker,” Maxwell said over his shoulder. “I never
dated him. I never saw him before he came into the diner.”

“But
the police have a sketch now,” Sue asserted. “But no name.”

“Right,”
Haley confirmed.

“Well,
you two just make yourselves comfy. I have church early in the morning so I
need some shuteye.”

“Thank
you,” Maxwell said, nodding.

“Whatever
I can do to help,” Sue offered as she headed to her room. Maxwell noticed that
Haley did not follow.

Haley
came up to him and laid her head on his shoulder. “What do we do next?”

“Hope
the police catch him.” Lowering his voice, Maxwell added, “Before he catches
us.”

*
         
*
         
*
         
*

A
sketch of Griffin Michaelson’s face flashed across the computer screen along
with the subtitle
Suspect Wanted for
Questioning in Brutal Attack
. The video, from a local Chicago news station
website, paused as Proctor David Roth dragged the mouse across the screen. “I
thought you’d want to see this,” he said. He turned to face Nigel Rathborne.
Nigel leaned back in the high back leather chair. His green eyes narrowed as he
digested the information.

“We
knew Griffin could be—volatile,” Nigel explained.

“Yes—and
Vincent?”

“Even
more so. But, he’s kept a low profile so far.”

David
leaned against the mahogany desk. “So what does this mean for our plans?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Nigel
rubbed his palms together. “Are you questioning my leadership?”

“Not at
all, sir,” David acquiesced. “I simply want to know if you need me to take any
steps—to expedite things here at the school.”

Nigel
shook his head. “Not at all. Vincent is on his way to fetch Nadia in Las Vegas;
then he can help Griffin.” Nigel leaned forward, placing his elbows on the
desk. He glanced again at the computer screen and the sketch bearing the
likeness of Griffin. “We want word to get out. A scared public is an easily
molded public.”

“Yes. I
know, but...”

Nigel
narrowed his eyes. “You think it’s too soon?”

“The
most recent report shows that only 35 percent of Project Conflagration targets
are locked in,” David explained.

“I’m
fully aware of our progress, David.” Nigel stood and glided across the room to a
glowing world map on a monitor. “This is updated in real time.” He flicked his
eyes from the map to Proctor Roth. “The most important targets are already set.
Those operatives are already in place. ”

“But
what about the young men here? Our work—”

“Inconsequential.
In the grand scheme. You’ve known that all along.”

“Yes, I
realize it’s the pack that matters, and these boys here are—”

“Expendable,”
Nigel finished. “Soldiers are made to die.” He stood and walked to the window,
looking out across the garden to the river behind Cornerstone. “Keep the
current experimentation schedule. No need to rush. If things change, I’ll let
you know. Project Conflagration is set.” He looked at David’s reflection in the
window glass. “We have schools just like this one all across the country. Every
school—including this one—is right on schedule. We have nothing to worry
about.”

“
Homo homini
lupus est
,” David recited.

“Yes. Man
is
a wolf to his fellow man,” Nigel affirmed.
“And it is that fact that will allow us to rule the human race for once and for
all.”

Night wind
whipped through Vincent Blackwell’s shaggy brown hair and tore at the scruff on
his rugged face. Such exhilaration—the feel of the open road on his motorcycle.
He loved the roar of the bike, weaving in and out of cars that were puttering
along. Across the dark desert, the lights of Las Vegas beamed in cartoonish
glory. A wicked grin split his full lips, revealing his perfect set of teeth.
Ah, this city would offer so many delights! He thought of what he wanted to do.
Hunting was at the top of his list—as always—ever since Griffin had come to him,
helped him see who he really was. Griffin had made such sense of the madness
that had danced in Vincent’s head like drunkards at a masquerade ball.

Vincent
squeezed the throttle and, roaring, the bike lunged forward. The
revelation—that he was a werewolf—filled him with power!
To hunt in the city or the desert?
He wondered. Both offered such
joys and both were practical skills for the coming war in which he would be a
general. A leader. Vincent had always suspected he was born to be a leader, no
matter what the losers back in Oregon had to say.
Fuck them all.

Nigel
had just
ordered
him to drive to Las
Vegas to collect Nadia. Nigel was slick, and it worried Vincent. Nigel’s power
and authority intimidated him, but more to the point, Vincent did quite trust
him.
And then I head to Chicago to help
Griffin collect the runt of the litter, Maxwell.
Nigel was convinced that
the four of them could easily reign in Alec and Jared, help them see the err of
their ways. And if not... the pack could just be four instead of six. Nigel had
already said as much. Alec and Jared would never stop their plans.

Soon! Soon the world is going to
be different.
Vincent
raised off the motorcycle seat and whooped into the night. Nadia was so close
he could practically smell her.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*

The
last show of the evening had closed, and Nadia and Helena sat in their dressing
room, changing and removing stage make-up. Helena stifled a yawn as she pulled
on her jacket. She eyed Nadia who sat at a lighted vanity applying fresh
make-up in a fine layer, unlike the caked-on stage make-up she had just removed.
“Are you heading out?”

“I was
thinking of getting a drink before going home,” Nadia acknowledged.

“How do
you have such energy? Ah, yes, I was 21 once upon a time.”

Standing
from the lighted vanity in a tight black dress, Nadia planted a kiss on her
mother’s head. “You’re not so old, you know.”

“I feel
old, and that’s what counts. I want to retire and move somewhere cold. Like
Iceland.”

“Iceland’s
actually kind of mild.”

“Always
so smart!” Helena said, grabbing Nadia’s face. She kissed her daughter on the
cheek. “Alaska. Greenland. I don’t care. I was making a joke.”

“The
best jokes contain the truth.”

“And
who taught
you
that?”

Nadia
paused at the door, and leaned against it, smiling. “You did.” She blew her
mother a kiss and closed the door as she left. The night air cooled her skin,
and she pulled her jacket tight around her neck as she walked to her car. The night
flashed green and red and yellow with the reflections of neon above her. The
street rang out with drunken joy and car rumblings. Nadia smiled to herself.
The clamor was distant and the voices she heard all evening were silent. Her
almost constant headache was easing. She navigated the streets, the music low,
as she drove to the bar she frequented.

She
entered a bar, and the clamor assaulted her. She stepped back just a moment,
allowing her mind to adjust to the sudden burst of noise. The din of voices
garbled together, and no voice rose above the others. Loud places like this
crowded bar were as much a refuge as the middle of the desert. Nadia could most
clearly hear voices murmured in an otherwise quiet landscape. If she tried (and
she wouldn’t), she could probably pick voices out from the room. But this
audible chaos was bliss.