Deceived By the Others

chapter 20



Nick and Dillon weren’t happy to see me when I rushed back into the cabin. I’d forgotten about them.

They were straining at their bonds, teeth too prominent and hands sporting claws flexing as they twisted and fought against the chains. I very nearly turned around and left them there to take my chances in the woods.

“Get us out of here!” Dillon shouted.

They were still human enough to speak. Human enough to know better than to touch me. It didn’t make it any easier to approach the struggling pair.

Dillon’s eyes glowed green when I knelt in front of him, searching for all of the carabiners used to hook the chains together. He stilled when I put a hand to his shoulder, nostrils flared and breath hissing between his teeth.

Spike had used a few of the hefty clasps to secure the chains. My hands shook as I fumbled at the catch to the first one. The occasional ripples of shifting muscle as Dillon fought to keep still didn’t help.

Soon, Dillon was freed, and he practically leapt to his feet as he shrugged out of the chains. I concentrated on freeing Nick, carefully not looking at Dillon as he tore off his clothes in preparation for the shift.

By the time Nick was free, Dillon was already sprouting fur, crouched low on the floor as his bones and muscles rearranged themselves. The sounds of popping tendons and creaking muscles made my stomach lurch. Worse, as I patted Nick’s shoulder to let him know he was free, he twisted around to face me, his face distorting as his jaw extended into a muzzle baring teeth dripping with saliva.

I backpedalled, crab walking across the tile until I slammed my shoulders and the back of my skull against the cabinets behind me. Nick tilted his head back, a low, coughing growl escaping him as he shimmied his way out of the chains. Fabric tore and split as he fought his way free. Thick golden fur sprouted to cover his nakedness.

Dillon let loose with an ear-splitting howl, one that was soon answered by others in the pack outside. I tore my gaze off of Nick to see if Dillon had finished with his transformation.

To my horror, he had. He was the same black-coated Were with the cat-like green eyes that had once stalked me like prey, hunger glittering in his gaze as he approached me. He’d stopped in that stinking alley, leaving me alone only because Chaz had been there to protect me. He’d been there during the fight against Max Carlyle in Royce’s basement, too, though there had been too much going on at the time for him to be a danger to me. This time, there were no distractions, and Chaz wasn’t here to stop him from attacking me.

My fingers practically split the wood of the cabinet as I grabbed the door to pull myself up off the floor.

Dillon watched me from his crouched position, lips pulled back on that dog-like muzzle to bare yellowish fangs. Triangular ears were pricked forward as he took a careful step closer, pausing as his claws dug furrows into the wooden floorboards.

Panting with terror, I reached for the closest thing to hand—the coffee pot—and held it out in front of me in warning. Comical, perhaps, but it was the only thing within reach that I could use to defend myself.

Nick voiced another low growl, and I had to stifle a scream as he reared up beside me. I arched back against the countertop as he bumped his head on the ceiling, grimacing and baring his teeth in a remarkably human expression of pain. Both clawed hands came up to cradle his skull, rubbing where he’d struck it.

Even in this form, he still had the piercings I remembered seeing on his brows, nose, and ears. When he tugged the tatters of his shirt off his chest, nipple piercings remained, too. I didn’t dare peek lower to see if he had any others.

I flinched back when he leaned toward me, thrusting the coffee pot at him. He jerked back, then gave me a cursory sniff. Apparently satisfied, he turned away and lumbered toward the door, casting a glance at Dillon, who was still watching me with the intent hunger of a predator.

Dillon crept closer as Nick got out of the way, stalking forward on all fours. Panic at being trapped beat at my breast, and I frantically searched for some way—any way—out of this mess.

Nick growled, and Dillon froze. The pair looked at each other, ears flattening and lips lifting in threat, though now they made no sound.

Another howl split the air, this time much closer, from somewhere outside. As Nick turned to look, Dillon leapt at me.

I screamed, hurling the coffee pot at him in reflex. It struck a glancing blow on his snout before falling to the floor and shattering.

Just before Dillon reached me, though he was close enough for me to feel the fetid wash of his breath across my face, Nick knocked him off course and into the wall. Hot pain stung my arm, but all I knew was terror in that moment, and I skittered back as far as the tiny kitchenette allowed. The pair of wolves grappled, snapping and snarling at each other, claws soon wet with blood.

Unable to cope, I sank to my knees, clutching my arms around my chest as the two thrashed and fought. They crashed into the bed, shoving it into other furniture hard enough for wood to audibly crack. Nick thrust his jaws under Dillon’s, closing on the black Were’s windpipe as they rolled into the table, snapping one of the legs and sending the chairs tumbling to the floor. Nick soon had Dillon pinned on his back, his teeth digging tight into the fur and cutting off any hope of Dillon’s gaining the breath to fight back.

Though Dillon’s claws raked over his chest again and again, Nick didn’t let go. I flinched as one of his nipple piercings rolled across the floor and struck my shoe, leaving behind a tiny spatter of blood. Eventually, Dillon subsided, stilling under the golden-furred Were.

Once he stopped fighting, Nick released him, backing up a few paces. Nick bared bloodied teeth, keeping his amber irises locked upon the gasping, choking Were before him.

Dillon remained on his back for a few minutes, furred chest heaving as he regained his breath. Soon he rolled onto all fours, keeping his body low to the ground and his tail between his legs as he crept closer to Nick. His lips and ears were drawn back, though he didn’t show any teeth, and he only lifted his head long enough to lick Nick’s muzzle with a few swipes of his tongue.

Nick’s tail, which had been sticking straight out like an arrow, parallel to the ground, dropped, and he lowered his head, returning the fervent licks before glancing at me. I stayed where I was, unmoving, frozen with terror.

The pair didn’t pay me any more attention, turning and rushing out the open door on all fours, Dillon following Nick’s lead.

It was only after they were gone, as I was struggling up to my feet, that I realized my arm hurt and that I was bleeding.

Panic assailed me. I grabbed the closest chair with both hands, struggling to remain upright as my chest tightened, preventing me from pulling in enough air to fill my lungs.

Blood. My blood. Not Nick’s, not Dillon’s—mine. Dillon had cut me. With his claws.

Oh God.

Bile burned my throat as I stumbled to the counter, turning on the water and thrusting my arm under the stream, rubbing at the shallow cuts even though they now burned like fire. Panting with terror, I grabbed at the tiny bottle of antibacterial soap and dumped most of it on the wounds, scrubbing like it would make a difference.

Oh God.

I could be like them this time next month.

Oh God.

I couldn’t hold it in. I threw up into the sink, crying even as I still frantically scrubbed at the cuts, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. If I was infected, it was too late. Lycanthropy couldn’t be washed out of the blood, no matter how good that soap was at cutting through grease and bacteria. The smallest nick of fangs or claws could carry enough of the virus to spread it to anyone unlucky enough to be attacked.

If it had made its way into my bloodstream, I was beyond f*cked.