WOLF STRAP
Naomi Clark
T
he boy was cold by the time the police found him. His blood dried to a tacky rust-red stain on his clothes and face. His limbs bent at cruel angles. He lay in the alley in a mound of fetid rubbish, the scent of death lingering in the cold air, mixing with the reek of rotting food. On the wall behind the teenager, a single word was scrawled in huge letters, the paint the same dark red as the boy’s blood.
“Oh Jesus,” one of the cops whispered. “A kid? What kind of sick fuck would do this?”
Swallowing bile, his werewolf partner moved closer to the corpse and identified another scent underlying the others, a clean, musky smell that triggered a fresh wave of nausea in him.
“Not just any kid, Hesketh ,” he said. “A Pack kid.”
Hesketh wet his lips. “A dead Pack kid.”
The silence weighed heavily between them. Neither spoke again.
M
y wolf snarled and whined at the thought of being trapped on a plane for three hours. I struggled to tamp down my inner beast’s fear of containment and focus on happier thoughts. Like Shannon’s jasmine and sandalwood fragrance or the soft feel of my favorite hoodie against my skin, or the fact that any minute now I’d be thousands of feet up in the air with absolutely no control over this great winged death trap…
“Damn.” I chewed my sleeve, working hard not to hyperventilate as the wolf scratched at the doors of my mind, demanding release.
“ Ayla ?” Shannon brushed my knee lightly. “Are you okay?”
I dredged up a tight smile for my lover. “Airplanes.” I shrugged and spread my hands in a helpless gesture.
Shannon laughed and her light caress became a squeeze. “My fearless werewolf,” she teased.
“Wolves aren’t meant to fly,” I grumbled, clutching the armrests of my seat. “Wolves belong on the ground.”
“Poor baby. I’ll have to think of something to distract you.” She leaned in, the silky locks of her hair falling over her shoulder to brush my arm in a sensuous sweep. “Do wolves ever join the mile high club?”
I caught the scent of Shannon’s arousal, a musky, sweet perfume that never failed to turn both me and the wolf on. For a second the tightness in my chest was nothing to do with fear of flying. Then the engines roared and the plane lurched forwards, breaking the spell. I closed my eyes and tried not to whimper. “Not this one.”
Shannon settled back in her seat with a sigh. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Adam was my nephew. I remember playing with him when he was just a cub, teaching him how to stalk rabbits…” I smiled, hot tears pricking at my eyelids. I fought them back. “I want to say goodbye, you know?”
“Of course you do. But your parents–”
“I might not even see them. Pack funerals…it’ll be crowded.” I wondered who I was trying to convince, since I certainly hadn’t convinced myself. My wolf bristled at the thought of my parents, hackles rising. I opened my eyes enough to see Shannon frowning at me, concern marring her delicate features. “Thanks for coming with me,” I said. “You didn’t have to. It’s going to be… difficult.”
Shannon wrapped her hand around mine and opened her mouth, but her words were lost in the roar of the plane’s engines as we rose off the runway. I squeaked, a very non-werewolf sound, and scrunched my eyes shut once more.
Shannon’s fingers stroked my knuckles, a tender touch that calmed me a little.
“Think happy thoughts.”
I was on my way to a city I’d left eight years ago, home to a family who didn’t want me, to the funeral of a nephew I barely knew. There weren’t enough happy thoughts on the planet.
The death of a child is a tragedy under any circumstances. For Pack it’s even worse, given the low birth rates amongst werewolf bitches. Adam’s death would affect the whole community, not just his immediate family. There was no way I could stay away from the funeral, no matter how hard it might be
Naomi Clark
T
he boy was cold by the time the police found him. His blood dried to a tacky rust-red stain on his clothes and face. His limbs bent at cruel angles. He lay in the alley in a mound of fetid rubbish, the scent of death lingering in the cold air, mixing with the reek of rotting food. On the wall behind the teenager, a single word was scrawled in huge letters, the paint the same dark red as the boy’s blood.
“Oh Jesus,” one of the cops whispered. “A kid? What kind of sick fuck would do this?”
Swallowing bile, his werewolf partner moved closer to the corpse and identified another scent underlying the others, a clean, musky smell that triggered a fresh wave of nausea in him.
“Not just any kid, Hesketh ,” he said. “A Pack kid.”
Hesketh wet his lips. “A dead Pack kid.”
The silence weighed heavily between them. Neither spoke again.
M
y wolf snarled and whined at the thought of being trapped on a plane for three hours. I struggled to tamp down my inner beast’s fear of containment and focus on happier thoughts. Like Shannon’s jasmine and sandalwood fragrance or the soft feel of my favorite hoodie against my skin, or the fact that any minute now I’d be thousands of feet up in the air with absolutely no control over this great winged death trap…
“Damn.” I chewed my sleeve, working hard not to hyperventilate as the wolf scratched at the doors of my mind, demanding release.
“ Ayla ?” Shannon brushed my knee lightly. “Are you okay?”
I dredged up a tight smile for my lover. “Airplanes.” I shrugged and spread my hands in a helpless gesture.
Shannon laughed and her light caress became a squeeze. “My fearless werewolf,” she teased.
“Wolves aren’t meant to fly,” I grumbled, clutching the armrests of my seat. “Wolves belong on the ground.”
“Poor baby. I’ll have to think of something to distract you.” She leaned in, the silky locks of her hair falling over her shoulder to brush my arm in a sensuous sweep. “Do wolves ever join the mile high club?”
I caught the scent of Shannon’s arousal, a musky, sweet perfume that never failed to turn both me and the wolf on. For a second the tightness in my chest was nothing to do with fear of flying. Then the engines roared and the plane lurched forwards, breaking the spell. I closed my eyes and tried not to whimper. “Not this one.”
Shannon settled back in her seat with a sigh. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Adam was my nephew. I remember playing with him when he was just a cub, teaching him how to stalk rabbits…” I smiled, hot tears pricking at my eyelids. I fought them back. “I want to say goodbye, you know?”
“Of course you do. But your parents–”
“I might not even see them. Pack funerals…it’ll be crowded.” I wondered who I was trying to convince, since I certainly hadn’t convinced myself. My wolf bristled at the thought of my parents, hackles rising. I opened my eyes enough to see Shannon frowning at me, concern marring her delicate features. “Thanks for coming with me,” I said. “You didn’t have to. It’s going to be… difficult.”
Shannon wrapped her hand around mine and opened her mouth, but her words were lost in the roar of the plane’s engines as we rose off the runway. I squeaked, a very non-werewolf sound, and scrunched my eyes shut once more.
Shannon’s fingers stroked my knuckles, a tender touch that calmed me a little.
“Think happy thoughts.”
I was on my way to a city I’d left eight years ago, home to a family who didn’t want me, to the funeral of a nephew I barely knew. There weren’t enough happy thoughts on the planet.
The death of a child is a tragedy under any circumstances. For Pack it’s even worse, given the low birth rates amongst werewolf bitches. Adam’s death would affect the whole community, not just his immediate family. There was no way I could stay away from the funeral, no matter how hard it might be
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