Wild Blood (14 page)

“I was thirteen when Dad came home one night drunker than usual—which was saying something. He stumbled into my bedroom with a knife, slurring something about making sure I never do anything like the bastard who did it to my mother. Then he starts trying to pull off my underpants. And that's when I Changed.

“The minute it happened I realized that pathetic, drunken excuse for a man wasn't my real father, and he and those sadistic, perverted creeps weren't my real family. It was like all the fear in me melted away. For the first time in my life I was free to hate my tormentors, and it was beautiful.

“Next thing I knew, I'm naked on the couch, covered in blood. And so is the couch—and the living room walls. At first I was afraid Dad had cut my thing off. Then I see my baby brother's head sitting on top of the TV set.

“I found most of my baby sister stuffed in the toilet. Dad was in my bedroom, the knife he tried to castrate me with rammed between his eyes. My big sister was still alive, kinda—crawling around in circles on her hands and knees, dragging a lap of gut behind her.

“That same night I packed my Star Wars lunch box with a couple of bologna sandwiches and a thermos of chocolate milk and ran out the kitchen door. I never went back. I spent the next couple of years living on the streets and in the Wild. At first I was like you—I didn't have control over my Changes. I had to be threatened with serious bodily harm in order for it to happen. But other times all I had to do was get sexually excited.

“By the time I was fifteen, I'd finally figured out how to Change at will. That's when I ran into my older brother again. I ran into him in a bar on Skid Row. He had a serious drug problem and living hard and fast had taken its toll on his looks. He didn't recognize me at first, but when I told him who I was, he seemed genuinely glad to see me. Talking to him, I realized he didn't know that the rest of the family was dead. I didn't see any reason to clue him in.

“As we ‘caught up', I asked him flat-out why everyone in the family hated me. He said it was because I was a rape baby. Turns out Mom had been working as a waitress to make some extra money for Christmas. One night, as she was walking home, some guy knocked her unconscious and raped her. They never found out who did it. Not long after that, she turned up pregnant.

“Dad wanted her to have an abortion, but she wouldn't do it because she was convinced I was his baby, not the rapist's. But when I was born they could tell I didn't look like anyone on his side of the family. My mother's attitude toward me changed completely, once she realized whose son I was. She hated the very sight of me and even refused to nurse me. But, still, she would not put me up for adoption. I guess she thought she could teach herself to love me, but it was impossible.

“Looking at me every day and being reminded of what had happened ended up poisoning her relationship with Dad. Even though she went on to have two more kids with him, their marriage was pretty much ruined. Mark told me that's why he'd done things to me as a kid—because he knew I wasn't his ‘real' brother, so it wasn't a sin. As he says it, he reaches under the table and squeezes my thigh and asks if I want to go back to his place ‘for old times' sake.'

“He was living in some shit-hole of a hotel full of rats, junkies and drag queens. The moment he closed the door, I overpowered him and tied him to the bed. I told him I wasn't a puny little eight-year-old anymore. And then I brought out the lighter and the pack of cigarettes.

“He screamed the whole time, but if anybody heard, they didn't bother to stop what was going on. Just like when we were kids. Then I Changed and ripped his head off his shoulders. I cracked his skull open like a coconut and scooped out his brains and cooked them up in a skillet with some scrambled eggs. It was quite delicious. You ought to try it sometime; there's nothing quite like it.”

“I think I'll pass,” Skinner said queasily.

“Don't knock it till you've tried it, cousin.”

Chapter Fifteen

Skinner started from dreams, the images from his dreams melting away to reveal the interior of the equipment van. It took him a couple of seconds to realize they were no longer moving. Yawning, he sat up and looked around, scratching his head. There was no sign or Rend and the others. It was not yet dawn, but he could tell simply by the smell of high country pine and wild things that they were somewhere in the woods.

He climbed out of the VW, sniffing about cautiously as the hairs along his arms began to prickle. The minivan was parked a few yards away, and it, too, was empty. He could make out the telltale burble of rushing water mixed with the sound of laughter. Following the voices, he discovered a small footpath that led to a rocky creek bed. There he found the others splashing in the cold, mountain spring water in various stages of undress.

Rend squatted at the edge of the creek, bare-chested, vigorously scrubbing his face with a piece of soap. When Jag emerged, nude, from the water, he shook out his long hand like a dog after a bath. Hew and Ripper amused themselves by hopping from rock to rock along the creek, skipping stones across its surface as they whooped like children at play. He saw Sunder lying on his belly, lapping at the briskly running water like a beast of the field.

“Look who's here: it's low-dog.”

Skinner turned in the direction of the voice in time to see Jez emerge from the surrounding foliage. She was stark naked, save for the surgical-steel rings piercing her nipples and labia. She stood there idly toying with the frond from a fern, like an ancient woodland nymph, and watched him stare at her.

“Jez!”

She laughed and walked past Skinner, lingering long enough to give him a smile and a wink, and headed over to her brother. Jag grabbed his twin by her platinum blonde hair and pulled her to him. Jez made a small whimpering sound as she quivered in anticipation. His eyes locked on Skinner, Jag thrust his tongue into his sister's mouth and his hand between her legs.

Skinner looked away and tried to ignore the sudden heaviness between his legs. He joined Rend by the creek side, who had halted his ablutions and was watching him from the corner of his eye.

“What's with those two?” Skinner whispered as he tugged off his T-shirt.

“Jag is Jez's consort,” Rend replied with a shrug. “He needs her to be pack leader. He can be pretty insecure when it comes to her attentions.”

“You mean she's calling the shots?” Skinner raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“The Alpha Bitch is the linchpin that holds a pack together. Ours is a matriarchal society.”

“You're shitting me.”

“It's the truth,” Rend insisted. “If you think Jez is a piece of work, wait until you meet her dame, Lady Melusine. Same goes for Jag and his sire, Lord Feral.”

“One big happy family, huh?”

“You could say that,” Rend said with a humorless laugh.

Skinner splashed a cupped handful of water in his face. It was cold and clean, waking him to the core of his being. Shivering, he splashed another handful onto his bare chest, cleaning away the dried blood from the previous night's slaughter.

“Where the hell are we?”

“We're along the Rio Vallecitos in the Carson National Forest, northwest of Santa Fe,” Rend explained as he talked around his toothbrush. “We still have a way to go before we reach the Howl.”

“You mentioned that last night. What is it, exactly?”

“It's the most important of vargr observances: the time of the rut melee. It is the gathering where we do battle for the right to mate with bitches in season. It's held at this secret mountain lodge just across the border, in Colorado …”

Rend abruptly fell silent, his attention focused on something across the creek. Skinner followed his companion's gaze and saw a deer standing on the opposite bank, about a hundred yards upstream. It was either accustomed to people along the riverside, or they were far enough upwind of the creature for it not to notice them. His heart began to race with excitement as he recalled the deer he killed, all those years ago.

Not only had he and Rend spotted the deer, so had the others. Jag and Jez, their lust forgotten, dropped down onto their haunches, their noses lifted to the air. Slowly, as if in a trance, Skinner began to remove his remaining clothes, never once taking his eyes from the drinking deer.

Ripper stood on a slippery rock on the edge of the creek, balanced precariously on his right foot as he tried to remove his left combat boot. However, as he tugged it free, he overbalanced and fell headlong into the stream.

The deer jerked its head up, its nostrils flared wide. It smelled them now. But what it scented was not humans, but an enemy far more dangerous. The animal whirled about and bolted into the woods, running for its life.

Jag was the first of the pack to follow, splashing across the shallow water, and the call to the hunt rising from his throat. The others were quick on his heels, each lifting his or her voice in accompaniment as the Wild filled their bodies and fueled their flesh. As they ran they cast aside naked skin in favor of thick, protective fur, blunted nails and teeth for fearsome talons and mouths full of fangs. And to his astonishment, Skinner found himself running alongside them, his howl joined with theirs—and it was good.

Ripper leapt forward, snapping at the fleeing deer's hindquarters. Hew followed suit, slashing the stag's other flank. As the animal slowed, Sunder moved in to grab the deer's snout, causing it to bellow sharply and toss its head in an attempt to free itself, sending him flying. Rend leapt in to take Sunder's place, somehow avoiding its antlers as the wounded deer attempted to slash him.

While their prey was held fast in front, Jag and Jez jumped onto the struggling animal, tearing large lumps of flesh from its hindquarters. The hapless creature's eyes bugged out of its skull as it uttered a low, moaning cry before collapsed to its knees, then over onto its side. As it exposed its belly, Skinner darted forward and tore at its underside, ripping out its intestines with his teeth and claws.

The pack descended as one on the slaughtered animal, gorging themselves on its still-warm meat. After they were finished, Jag and Jez each pissed near the kill, and then, one by one, the others added to the puddle as well. Skinner was the last of the pack to add to the collection—it seemed the natural thing to do.

Ripper wrenched the stag's head free of its body, holding it up over his own. The stag's eyes were already glazed, and its blackened tongue hung limply from the side of its mouth, which still dripped blood and froth. “Hey! Lookit me! I'm Bambi!” he laughed, skipping around in a circle.

For some reason, this struck Skinner as the funniest thing he'd ever seen. He began to laugh, and was quickly joined by the others. He found himself overcome by a strong surge of camaraderie that only a full belly after a successful hunt could forge.

“What next?” Skinner asked as he licked his lips clean of blood.

“We crash,” Rend replied as he scratched behind his ear with his hind leg. “We've still got a long drive ahead of us.” With that he yawned and moved into the surrounding brush.

Jag reached over and fondled Jez's middle pair of tits as he nuzzled at her throat, nipping playfully at her exposed jugular. In return, Jez fondled her brother's genitals. Skinner watched in voyeuristic fascination as the pack leader's erect penis emerged from its furred pouch like a big, pink crayon. The twins then retired to the privacy of the nearby woods, leaving Ripper and Hew to vigorously lick their own privates in frustration.

Sunder made a disgusted snorting noise as he tore a final morsel from the deer's carcass for a bedtime snack. “If anyone wants me,” he announced as he headed back toward the vehicles, “I'll be guarding the vans.”

Skinner looked around and found a natural shelter formed by a couple of small bushes and crawled underneath their protective canopy so that the casual nature lover out on a hike would not spot him. Well-fed and weary, he fell into a sleep without dreams.

His eyes were wide open and his ears pricked the moment he heard the twig break. A warning growl vibrated deep in his throat.

“It's just me, Skinner,” Jez whispered as she wriggled forward on her belly, pressing herself tightly against him. All six of her nipples were erect. Her platinum pelt was streaked with mud and the dried blood of their kill, mixed with leaves and forest litter.

“Where's Jag?”

“Don't worry about him,” she sneered, twirling a lock of his fur around her overlong ring finger. “He sleeps like the dead. Did anyone ever tell you that you have beautiful eyes? They're such a pretty golden color. I've never seen anything quite like them before.”

As much as his body wanted her at that moment, Skinner knew her being there with him was not a good idea. “Jez—why are you here?” he asked.

“Why do you think, low dog?”

She smelled of female. Not the way human women reek of perfumes and deodorants that try to either mask or enhance their primal essence. She smelled of sweat and secretions that signaled a need so vast, so urgent, it triggered an answering tide within his body; much like the sound of a growling belly can trigger the hunger in an onlooker. Still, his erection hadn't completely cut off the flow of blood to his brain.

“What about Jag?” he whispered.

“He doesn't own me!” she giggled, sounding more like a mischievous schoolgirl than a werewolf. “He's a wash out, if you want to know the truth. He won the rut melee twice, and each time I didn't get pregnant. Being the consort means nothing if no cubs are sired. At least that's what our dame says. And she should know.”

“But—”

Jez wrapped her hand around his snout, clamping his muzzle shut. “Are you going to talk or fuck, low-dog?” she growled.

Skinner jerked his muzzle free, snapping at her in display.

“I like a brave dog,” Jez said, her voice husky with excitement. “Are you a brave doggie, Skinner? Hmmm?”