Wolf's Blood: A Wolf-Shifter Urban Fantasy (The House of Sirius Book 1) Read online

  But now she was Baron’s problem, and the shifter leader tried hard to ignore the cold glare that Caroline, his second in command, was giving him. Second in command? Hardly, he scoffed to himself. The woman was a thorn in his side, and they butted heads at every opportunity. The problem lying on the bed would have to be dealt with but, just to piss Caroline off, he said nothing, forcing her to break the silence.

  “Are you insane?”

  Right on cue, and he deigned to glance over at her. She was a lean, hard sort of woman, resting her weight against the doorframe, arms folded in a mirror of his own stance, wearing her standard leather trousers, black combat boots, a tight, no-frills t-shirt, her short, black hair wild and mussed. She was every bit the predator, taking no shit from anyone in the lush estate that the Lakes District Den called home. That included him, even though he was supposed to be the one running the show. And if anyone else had used that tone with him, they’d have got their arse kicked quicker than they could tuck their tail between their legs and run.

  “She’s a rogue,” Caroline snapped when he didn’t reply. “What the fuck are you doing bringing a rogue wolf to the estate?”

  Baron sighed as he tilted his head to the side, feeling his neck crack. He stretched his wide shoulders to ease the tension in his muscles. “That’s no rogue,” he said flatly, nodding toward the unconscious woman.

  “What the hell are you talking about? When Mark called, he said he’d come across a rogue wolf in London, untrained and likely to kill someone. And from the state of her, she already has. So, I ask again, why did you bring her here? She should be put down. Or caged, until she learns some manners.”

  Baron studied the unconscious woman again. She wasn’t particularly tall, maybe five foot three. She was on the curvy side, with pale skin and light brown hair, maybe in her late twenties. She had the look of a middle-class office worker, a meek, unremarkable member of the rat race – or at least she would if she wasn’t wearing scrubs and smeared with blood. The jarring sense that something was amiss came back to him again.

  A rogue wolf was a menace, a crazed beast that had no control over the animal side of themselves. When he’d first seen the woman weaving through the busy streets, she’d looked every bit like a convert gone mad. Some of them did, which was why newly turned wolves were watched closely, trained, sometimes caged until they learned to control themselves.

  But as he’d tried to catch the woman, for the briefest moment he’d caught a glimpse of... something else. It was hard to say what. Relief? Anticipation? Gratitude, even? Twenty years of listening to his instincts had told him that this was no rogue. She was newly converted, no doubt about that, but the wolf had sprung to her defence when she’d felt that dart – a sure sign that human and beast were capable of cooperating with each other. And she hadn’t tried to hurt anyone, even though there had been so many human sheep wandering past, ripe for the picking.

  “She’s not a rogue,” Baron repeated. “And I’m well aware of the need to find out just who the hell she is, but it’s going to be hard to make any progress on that until she wakes up.”

  Caroline stalked across the room, a throwing knife in her hand. She jabbed him in the chest with it, just hard enough to draw a pinprick of blood. “You could have done that down in the cages. You’re putting us all at risk.”

  Baron grabbed her arm and twisted, spinning the alpha female around so she was pinned against him, her back to his chest. He leaned down and breathed his words into her ear. “I run this Den,” he reminded her coldly. “And unless you’re petitioning for a leadership challenge, I suggest you remember that.”

  Caroline hesitated – as he expected her to – and he let her go, without waiting for her acquiescence. Push her too hard and she was just as likely to go and find another male to challenge him. Tank, perhaps, or Silas. Either one had the physical strength to give him a good run for his money, and Tank could garner enough support from the Den to give it a real go. Silas would have a harder time gathering a following, but there was no point tempting fate.

  “Send Silas up,” he said, as Caroline glared at him. “If the so-called rogue causes any trouble, Silas will take her out, no problem.”

  “That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day,” Caroline growled, then stalked out of the room.

  The woman on the bed stirred, moaned, then fell silent again. Baron settled in for a long wait. They’d used enough sedative to knock out a horse, and this newcomer was a lightweight compared to most of the residents here. But she had to wake up sooner or later. And when she did, Baron had a small mountain of questions that needed answering.

  ◆◆◆

  Mark paced across his bedroom, muttering curses under his breath. Of all the damn fool things to do! Breaking into the lab had been a plan littered with dangers, not least of which was to his own life, but at the time he hadn’t cared, firmly convinced it was worth the risk to get the information he was looking for.

  But then he’d caught a glimpse of that young woman through the laboratory door, looking so pale and terrified, and he’d felt a moment of paralysed anguish. The thought of just leaving an innocent civilian there to suffer had been unthinkable.

  His half-baked plan to free her had, at the time, seemed the only possible course of action, though he hadn’t had much hope that either of them would make it out of there without being killed.

  But now that they were back home, a whole world of unintended consequences had sprung up, and he ran his fingers through his hair as he stalked back across the room.

  He should never have been in the lab in the first place. Going there, running his own private investigation without Baron’s knowledge or permission, was a gross violation of Den rules. That alone was enough to earn him some serious punishment. But the reason behind his being there was even worse. If anyone discovered what he’d been doing, what he’d been investigating for the last few months, they’d put him down in an instant. His research had been an act of treason, and Baron wouldn’t hesitate to kill him for risking the safety of the Den in such a reckless manner.

  Except, of course, it would have been a whole lot easier to cover up his illicit activities if he hadn’t brought home such an obvious souvenir.

  Forcing himself to calm down, to at least try to think rationally, he sat down on the end of his bed, one leg immediately taking up a jittery rhythm. He had to work out how to play this.

  According to the story he’d given Baron, he’d come across the woman – by all appearances a rogue wolf – while he’d been out shopping. She’d been running loose and covered in blood, so he’d called in a capture squad, tracked the woman until Baron could catch up with her, and then they’d all high-tailed it north, their business in London thankfully at a close. If anyone had taken notice of the van and the blood-smeared woman, then Skip was an expert at covering their tracks, able to hack any database in the world, erase security videos, and cause police case files to get ‘lost’, while Alistair was a master spin doctor, managing the group’s PR and fabricating media stories whenever their activities started to draw too much attention. Even so, they didn’t like to make extra work when stealth and discretion would serve just as well.

  A moment later, Mark was back on his feet, pacing across the room again. But maybe he was panicking over nothing, he thought, grasping for any ray of light in this mess. The woman had never seen his face, she’d blacked out after the scientists were all dead, and she’d seemed dazed and disoriented when Baron had hauled her into the van. So maybe, just maybe, she didn’t even remember him being there? Or at the very least, she should have little way of identifying him.

  Telling himself it was the sensible thing to do, he marched himself out the door before he could think twice about it, long legs taking him up the back stairs two at a time, to the third floor where Baron was keeping the woman in a spare bedroom. He simply needed to tease out whether she knew anything, and then at least he’d know where he stood.

  But the instant
he lifted his hand to knock, a wave of doubts came flooding back. What if she recognised him instantly and blurted it out right there in front of Baron? What if she didn’t know anything right now, but the memories came back to her over the next few days? What if…?

  Muttering a curse under his breath, he marched away again, to the end of the hall where he stared out onto the wide lawn below. And then a moment later, he was marching himself right back to the door, knocking before he allowed the doubts another chance to change his mind. If she knew what he’d done, he was going to face the consequences sooner or later, and he’d rather do it now, on his own terms, than spend the next few days skulking around the house waiting for it all to catch up with him.

  “What?” came the gruff reply. Mark pushed the door open and saw Baron standing near the bed, and Silas on the far side of the room, a knife strapped to his hip and a habitual scowl on his face.

  The woman, on the other hand, was lying on the bed, still unconscious. Damn it, he hadn’t even thought of that possibility, convinced the drugs would have worn off by now.

  “Well, look who’s here,” Baron drawled. “This is turning into a regular old circus sideshow.”

  Mark repressed the urge to sigh. Baron’s standard response to any situation he couldn’t control was to get either belligerent or sarcastic. “I was worried about her,” he said simply, taking a more straightforward approach. “She’s a newly turned wolf who was covered in blood.” He took a closer look at her face, and this time he did sigh. “Couldn’t you have at least cleaned her up a bit?” There was still dried blood clinging to her cheek, smeared over her chin. After what had happened in the lab, she was going to wake up terrified enough as it was. Still being splattered with blood wasn’t going to make it any better.

  Baron looked amused. “We picked up a potential rogue who looks like she just killed someone. No, I’m not giving her a bath.”

  Mark scowled at him, which earned him a laugh. “Since when have you been a bleeding heart?” Baron asked. “Normally you’re all pragmatic this and sensible that.”

  It was true, but what the hell else was he supposed to say? I was worried she’s going to turn me in as a traitor? That would hardly go down well.

  The door was flung open suddenly, and Caroline marched in, glaring at Baron. “Fucking hell, are you still here?”

  “I thought this was where you wanted me,” Baron said. “Babysitting the dangerous menace.” He jerked his head at the woman on the bed. “Better call the riot squad. I think she just moved her thumb.”

  “The Council called,” Caroline snapped, totally ignoring the girl. “We’ve got problems.”

  “When don’t we?” Baron said, and Mark groaned inwardly. It was a never-ending battle with these two, with neither one able to give any ground to the other. If Baron hadn’t already had a partner, Mark would have assumed the constant sniping at each other was borne of nothing more than sexual tension. But then again, Baron’s relationship was… complicated.

  “I’m serious,” Caroline snapped. “Come and see me when you’ve finished with your prisoner. The Noturatii are stirring up a hornet’s nest again.” The door slammed shut, and Baron let out a muffled curse.

  He turned back to Mark, fixing him with a sardonic glare, his mood apparently having taken a rapid downturn. “Look, Romeo. She’s still unconscious, so how about you take your arse back downstairs and find something useful to do. She’ll wake up when she wakes up; you can wait it out, just like everyone else.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Mark let himself out of the room, shutting the door softly, though his hand gripped the knob a little too tightly. He’d used up his only real opportunity at learning anything more about the woman, and had gained exactly nothing for his efforts. Long strides took him back down the hall, his footsteps just a fraction louder than usual on the wooden floorboards, and he shoved his hands firmly into his pockets, realising his fingers were clenched into fists.

  ◆◆◆

  Dee struggled against the fog in her brain, trying to figure out where reality was. She heard voices and wondered where she was. Had she fallen asleep at a friend’s house? Or maybe she was at home and had left the television on? One of the voices was shrill and female, and there were others, male, one calm and reasonable, another deep and rumbling. She tried to remember if she knew those voices.

  Then reality came thundering down on her – images of the lab, her abduction, the pain and terror screaming back into her consciousness, the presence in her head, the blood – and her eyes snapped open.

  The room was stylishly old-world, her mind still sluggish as she took in a thick rug covering wooden floorboards, an open fireplace, and beautiful paintings on the walls. She thought maybe she was having a bizarre dream.

  But then one of the lines she’d heard echoed in her mind. ‘Come and see me when you’ve finished with your prisoner’.

  Prisoner? She was their prisoner? After all she’d done to escape her last captors, was she right back where she’d started?

  There were two men in the room, two large, imposing, dangerous men, and she felt a new wave of terror, followed by a most perverse kind of relief. Okay, she was still a captive, but this time she was somewhere far different from the lab. And the cold glares and open intimidation of these men were strangely preferable to the nameless, faceless scientists who had tortured her without speaking a word.

  The man closest to her was huge, with thick muscles standing out from massive biceps, a wide chest, and thighs like tree trunks. His arms were folded across his chest, and black hair and a short beard added to the impression of menace.

  But then Dee got a look at the second man. He was shorter and more wiry, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, but he had the look of a man who would gut you and laugh about it as he painted pictures with your blood. He had olive skin, a bald head, and a scar running from his left eye to his collar bone. Tattoos climbed from his wrists to his shoulders. He held a long dagger in his left hand, silently tossing it in the air and catching it again.

  Dee sat up, backing away across the bed until her hip hit the wall. “Are you going to kill me?” Presumably not, she thought, even before she’d finished the question. If they were, they would have done it while she was unconscious. But it was worth asking just to open a dialogue and gauge these men’s reactions. To see if they would speak to her at all.

  “Haven’t decided yet,” the larger man said. The leaner one quirked an eyebrow upwards and stroked the handle of his dagger.

  Okay, not the worst start ever. They hadn’t threatened torment and pain, nor tried to rape her, nor demanded ransoms or rewards in exchange for her freedom. It was a small silver lining, but given what she’d endured for the last few days, any upside was a blessing.

  As she sat there, trying to get her bearings, the creature inside her stirred. It woke up, tested her limbs subtly, still uncertain of this new body, then it seemed to scan the room, though whether it was by scent or sound or some other means she couldn’t quite tell. But the reaction of the creature to its new surroundings was startling. She felt its tight apprehension and ready aggression ease. The creature was withdrawing, relaxing. Why the hell would…?

  But when the reason struck her, it filled her with terror.

  Oh hell. These men… whatever it was that was inside her, whatever it was that she had become, they were like her. They were infected with the same strange energy, and her own beast was communing with theirs. They were killers, that much was certain.

  But then, so was she, after the massacre at the lab, and she pushed away a wave of guilt, knowing she had more urgent things to deal with.

  But if these men didn’t mean to kill her, then maybe they could explain what she was, what the presence in her body and mind was, and tell her how she might be rid of it again? If such a thing was even possible.

  Dee had never given much thought to religion, never considered what might exist beyond what could be seen and heard and touched, but… Demon. The wor
d lingered in her mind, and the thought that she had been possessed terrified her. God help her, what was she to do if that was true? Could a priest exorcise it? Could she be cured? Or was she to become a deranged killer, preying on the weak and innocent?

  Then another thought struck her. “I need to call my family,” she blurted out. “To tell them I’m alive -”

  “No,” the larger man interrupted.

  “My mother will be frantic,” Dee went on, heedless. “I’ve been missing for days.” What day was it, anyway? Had she missed her weekly lunch date with her mum? And what would her boss be thinking? She had reports to finish, meetings to attend…

  “No,” the man repeated.

  “Please, I… Please?”

  “No.”

  Perhaps she’d escaped from the frying pan only to land straight in the fire, then. The implacable calm of the man was daunting, and Dee fell silent, contemplating her options. She looked down at her hands and saw the dried blood on them. “What am I?”

  Both men looked startled, as if she had suddenly stripped naked in front of them. “Excuse me?” The look of bewilderment on the larger man’s face was almost comical.

  “You’re like me, aren’t you? The… the thing inside you?” The man nodded, a slow, cautious gesture. “So what am I? What is this thing?”

  “How did you -?” the leaner man asked, but the bigger one quickly shushed him.

  “How did you get… how did you acquire the presence?” It was carefully phrased and rephrased as the question was asked, a deliberate attempt at avoiding giving away any new information.