Mellizo Wolves (13 page)

* * *
*

Damon felt bad vibes as he and his family drove through the
darkened streets toward Madam Nola’s house. Traffic was light at four in the
morning. It was an ungodly hour to head for Lake Arrowhead, but Madam Nola
insisted they get an early start. He glanced into the back seat. The girls had
fallen asleep again. Teenagers could sack out at the drop of a hat. Damon
turned the car radio to low, hoping to find some music to soothe Angela who was
sitting as rigid as a board. Instead, he got the news.

“Spiritualist’s throat torn out,” the newscaster said. “The
attack happened after she retired for the night. Neighbors heard screams around
eleven and called the police. It appears to be the work of a werewolf. Police
are also mystified by the medium’s missing crystal ball.”

Angela gasped and her eyes filled with tears. “How
horrible! Poor Madam Nola. Oh my God, and what about—”

Damon knew why Angela cut herself off. She didn’t want the
girls to hear that there would be no ritual to lift the curse from them onto
him. They were trapped. Damon said a silent prayer that Lazar and his team
would discovered a cure. And fast. They’d been working on it for more than
eighteen years. Lazar said they were close.
Let him be right.

* * *
*

That afternoon, Lazar headed for the same bar where he’d
found Dudley and the alcoholic. He hired a crew of four men to capture more
wolves. He had two special wolves in mind. He found men so eager for work they
didn’t ask questions. He told them the hunt had to be tonight. “Round up every
wolf,” he told them. “They must be alive. There’s an extra bonus if you capture
the midnight black and snow white lupines.”

* * * *

As the moon rose in the darkening sky, agonizing pain
radiated through Victoria’s slender body. It was as though she were trapped in
a tornado, violently rotating and spiraling out of control. She pressed a
pillow to her mouth to mute her howl. Sweat trickled down her back. The muscles
throughout her body began to throb, followed by more pain. She howled again
into the pillow, and then raked her fingers through a wild, thickening onyx
mane. Swirling thick fog enveloped her brain, its snaking tendrils squeezing
away much of her rational thought.

Beside her, Valerie was writhing, apparently going through
the same hell. Her almond-shaped eyes glittered with savage intensity.

Victoria looked down at her own changing hands. Staring
aghast at the long claws, partially painted with black polish, that now jutted
from her fingertips made her want to laugh as though she were high on ecstasy.

Then excruciating pain shot through her again, killing any
desire to laugh. Her eyes pooled with tears as the attacks of pain came in
waves, each surge sharper than the last. She convulsed and writhed upon floor.
Mom had warned about the pain…but based upon Valerie’s agonized expression,
both of them would probably agree it was worse than either had imagined.

Victoria’s pain eased slightly. Her lengthening incisors,
now as sharp as ivory tusks, grazed her lip and drew a drop of salty blood. She
thirsted for more. Oh God, she was burning up. With sharp teeth and claws, she
ripped the clothing from her body and left it in shreds at her feet. Valerie
had done the same. She was still burning up and the room was hot, airless. She
struggled to reach the terrace doors and threw them open.

Feral instincts overpowered her sanity as her body
continued to change shape.

Holy cow…she was becoming a black, hairy beast.
Amazed and terrified at her building strength as the
agonizing metamorphosis geared through its stages to completion, she barked an
order to her morphed sister, now a snow white wolf.

When Valerie didn’t take her seriously, Victoria went into
a controlling routine and snapped into the air near her sister’s head. Valerie
growled back. Victoria raised the hackles around her neck and shoulders, trying
to give the impression of increased size and dominant power. Her sister copied
her and then splayed her ears sideways, like outstretched bat wings, to
indicate increasing defiance. Not to be beat by her seconds-younger twin,
Victoria issued a low, throaty growl.

With ears erect, they evaluated each other. But the call of
the moon was stronger than their game of establishing superiority. In unison,
they gestured with their heads toward the open terrace doors. Then backing up,
they charged forward and leapt with arching grace over the wrought iron railing.
The moment their front paws hit the grass-covered ground, they headed for the
hills and the caves beyond, thirsting for freedom, lusting for the unknown, and
desperate to answer the compelling lure tugging at their feral souls.

Victoria led the way through the soft, muted colors of the
night. Even within the radiance of moonbeams, she believed that slipping
through the dark shadows and tangled bushes provided sufficient cover. Night
sounds of crickets and hissing snakes perked her ears erect. Not yet fully
unaware of the depth of the risk they’d taken, she sniffed the air and caught
the scent of sweaty men—the scent of trouble. Her animal eyes picked out shapes
of humans. Then she heard male shouts. They’d been spotted. She suddenly
realized with their coats, glossy in the moonlight, they were moving
targets—especially her snow white sister.

Instinct and the knowledge that scientists were capturing
wolves for ungodly studies alerted her to escape the area. Wanting to remain
silent, she gestured with her muzzle to her sister to follow her. But when she
went left, Valerie went right. She had a moment of indecision, wondering if she
should circle back and follow her. Then it was too late. She’d lost sight of
her more vulnerable, easy-to-see, white-coated sister. She prayed her sister
would find a cave to hole up in.

* * *
*

One of the hunters aimed at
Valerie. Before he could get a good bead on her, a gigantic black wolf knocked
him down. The shot went wild but had come close enough to stir the air by her ear.
She ran like the wind and escaped the men, but now the majestic black wolf was
on her tail. He let out a low, fierce growl and kept nipping at her hind legs,
forcing her to run faster and faster. With growls and nips, he forced her into
a circle of boulders and cornered her. She stood upright on her hind quarters
and returned his fierce look. His raised hackles around the neck and shoulders
revealed that he was at least twice her size. Although trembling like a
frightened mouse, she issued a low, throaty growl, splayed her ears sideways,
and prayed her show of increased defiance would discourage him.

He stood tall, and deadly still.
He tried to intimidate her with his prolonged humanlike stare. She lifted her
head higher. His deeper growl gained intensity. He snarled, showing the
fiercest incisors she’d ever seen. Then with more nips and snarls, he forced
her muzzle down.

Her heart pounded, terrified at his intentions. He seemed
to be a healthy wolf, no foaming at the mouth. Her dad had told her when wolves
acted aggressively like this they were either in heat, suffering from an
illness, such as rabies, or had been mistreated. None of those possibilities
made her feel any safer.

* * *
*

From Victoria’s hiding place among the granite boulders,
she watched the four wolf hunters tramp through the brush and heard them
talking about catching wolves for Dr. Lazar. Determined not to be their catch
of the day, she whirled around and sprinted for home, hoping her sister had
done the same. They shouldn’t have left the house.

The moonlit darkness was alive with danger. Victoria
smelled the scent of the sweaty hunters getting closer. She angled into the
shadow of a tree. Above her, she heard a
whoosh
and then a cage dropped
over her. As it hit the ground, the floor locked into place, almost catching
her feet. She growled.

Almost instantly, her bronzed and shirtless captor appeared
from the deeper shadows. He stared through the bars at her with a
gotcha
glint
in his eyes. Then he turned and walked away, probably to brag to the others
about his catch.

With her sharp hearing, she heard something thud softly
into the dry grass. She extended her right front leg through the bars and
clawed at what she recognized at once was a cell phone. She drew it closer
until she could tumble it into the cage. Of course, it would be useless to her.
Even if she lucked out and caught a signal in this hilly area, which wasn’t
likely, she didn’t know how to use the phone in her wolf state. Even if she
managed to tap out 911, the police were looking for the werewolf who tore out
Madam Nola’s throat and would want her as much as the evil scientist who’d
hired this muscle-bound pretty-boy and his three ugly cohorts to catch her. And
she wouldn’t dare call Mom and Dad. They’d restrict her for all eternity for
leaving home without permission.

With sharp teeth and claws, she chewed and scratched at the
steel bars. Her heart pounded and she had an urge to pace, but the area was too
confined. She clawed at the solid lock without success. The trap was
inescapable. What would her sexy, lemon-blonde sister do if she were in this
mess? Use her wiles, of course. Okay, if her only chance to escape was to
seduce her broad-shouldered captor, that’s exactly what she would do. But
first, she had to morph back to her human state.

She spied a cluster of moon poppies just outside the cage.
She’d read on the Internet during her research on werewolves that devouring the
moon poppy, which bloomed only in the night, could possibly ward off or prevent
the dreaded transformation for the night. She’d also read that consuming moon
poppies in the right quantity while in the werewolf state could possibly end
the affliction forever. In any event, she believed the poppies had temporary
powers to reverse lycanthropy symptoms. She jammed the moon poppies into her
mouth and chewed quickly. They tasted like raw spinach drizzled with poppy oil.

She crossed her fingers, deciding to combine the promising
temporary cure with another tidbit she’d gotten off the Internet. It was a reversing
mind-over-matter skill she and Valerie had practiced in their room. She
concentrated and processed each step in reverse. She curled her lips and
counted backwards as agonizing pain radiated through her body. With all of her
strength, she fought the pain and the pull of the full moon. Then all hell
broke loose inside her. It was as though she were trapped in an anticyclone
with its high pressure center with winds rotating and spiraling in the opposite
direction. Chilled and terrified, she let out a long howl. Her eyes pooled with
tears as the attacks of pain came in waves, each surge sharper than the last.
She curled into a fetal position, convulsing and writhing upon the cage floor
while she fought to hold back sobs.

With her newly enhanced wolf-sharp hearing, she heard a
twig snap in the distance and then the crackle of the nearer underbrush. Her
captor was coming back and she wasn’t completely morphed. Her already pounding
heart speeded. If he found her in this vulnerable condition, she’d be lost.

She prayed for God’s help, his mercy. Then, slowly, like
magic, the throbbing muscles throughout her body began to relax and the pain
lessened. She raked her fingers through her wild, onyx mane. The swirling fog
lifted from her mind and her brain strained to gather its humanness. When her
feral instincts eased, she wanted to laugh like crazy.

Then in the luminance of the orange moon, she saw him
striding through the brush, his bare chest glistening like sun-kissed steel.
The ceiling of the cage was too low to stand, so she affected a sitting pose.
Nude, womanly, and trembling behind the bars, she watched her captor reenter
the secluded bushy area. He drew what she hoped was only a stun gun—Lazar
wouldn’t pay for dead wolves. She still had a chance.

“Wait!”

He froze, looking confused.

She slid her tongue over her lips, hoping her slowly
shrinking incisors didn’t protrude. “Please, handsome god-of-a-man, give me one
last taste of passion before you zap me with that thing.”

His confused expression darkened to lust. “How the hell did
you get in there and what did you do with the wolf?”

“What wolf? Maybe you smoked a little too much weed. What
do you want with a wolf anyway?” She lowered her voice to what she hoped was a
sexy purr. “I’m wilder than any untamed beast. I have this feral thing I do
that drives men wild. You’ll feel the afterglow for all eternity.”

He glanced around as if to be sure the others weren’t
nearby. Apparently satisfied they would be alone long enough, he opened the
cage and said, “Okay, sweetheart, make it hot and fast.”

She ran her hands through her still thick, wild onyx hair
and crawled toward him, slow and slinky, the way she’d seen strippers do in the
movies. She surreptitiously closed her right hand over the cell phone, and when
she cleared the cage, she drew back and let the phone fly into the bridge of
his nose. Then she leaped, knocking him down, and bit into his throat, not deep
enough to kill, just enough to knock him out. When he lost consciousness, she
raced for home.