The Night Has Teeth (29 page)

“But I’m human,” I insist.

“As it turns out, not entirely,” he explains. “You
see, a number of generations ago a werewolf bred with one of your
human ancestors. No doubt, the offspring would have been raised as
human, since werewolf society frowns upon such ... consorting.
What’s so fascinating about humans is that mutations evolve
rapidly. After so many generations, the gene eventually altered. In
you.”

I run my hands through my hair, taking it all
in.

“I must confess, I imagined the pack would have
informed you of all this by now,” he says, and I want to believe
the earnestness in his voice. “All this time I’ve been trying to
protect you, Connor. Everything was done with your safety in mind.
It would have been easy enough to introduce the venom to a sample
of your blood and study the effects. The secrets held within your
DNA are an unexpected blessing. I could only hope that you might be
the missing link in my research.”

I look to Arden for more answers, but he merely
steps forward and asks, “Where are the others?”

With a look of tolerant amusement, Boguet remarks,
“It speaks.”

A low growl is Arden’s only response.

“You’re just here for vengeance,” I
accuse.

“There’s some truth to what you say, my dear boy,”
he admits as his eyes lock on his opponent. “I’ve come, as you’ve
so eloquently suggested, to extract my long overdue retribution.
After all this time lying in wait, I couldn’t bear to share this
moment with anyone else.”

When Arden snarls, Boguet responds in kind. They
both transform. The contrast between the two is stark. Arden simply
morphs into his new form and slips out of his slacks, a
full-fledged wolf and thing of beauty. What Boguet becomes is far
more terrifying. He tears through his clothes while transforming
painfully into a half-man, half-wolf creature. Although the
yellow-white fur and pale blue eyes resemble his human self, the
rest is purely monstrous. I try to recall some emotion, something
to initiate the change in myself, but nothing happens. Fear trumps
ferocity. Which means, instead of transforming, I stand frozen as I
gape at the monster that is Henri Boguet. His attention is focused
entirely on Wolf Arden, as though I don’t figure into the equation
at all. If size alone is to determine the odds, the advantage is
clearly his. He’s larger by a half than Arden in wolf form.

There’s no posturing between the two beasts. The
creatures lunge at each other, letting out ferocious noises that
send chills across my flesh. It’s immediately clear that they’re
both out for blood. Arden has the benefit of speed, which allows
him to move with more agility against the slow and almost clumsy
attack by Boguet, who foams at the mouth with venom. My every
heartbeat pumps adrenaline throughout my veins as I scan the area
for some means of defense. I grab a broken wrought iron fence post,
pointed on one end. With Boguet’s back turned to me, I take a swing
and smash the metal across his ridged spine with as much force as I
can muster. He merely shakes off the blow and turns to me, teeth
bared and white froth dripping from his exposed gums. Swallowing my
anxiety, I fidget to get a better grip on my makeshift weapon,
raising it overhead. As the wolf-man steps forward, I aim for his
heart then thrust down in attack. I wind up staking him in the
ribs. He yowls in pain as he tosses me away with a swing of his
arm. Using the distraction, Arden jumps on his back, teeth sinking
into his neck with a gruesome crunch. The wolf-man’s claws reach
behind, trying to gain purchase on his wriggling form. From my
position on the ground, I watch in horror as blood rushes out of
the gaping wound and down his pale fur.

Boguet finally grabs Arden by the ruff and flips him
over his shoulder so they’re face to face. Arden scrabbles his back
paws against Boguet’s bloodied chest, snarling and twisting in an
attempt to get away. Recognizing the pressing danger, I pick myself
up to come to his aid. But it’s too late. A bone snaps as Boguet
bites into his forepaw. The too-human expression on Wolf Arden’s
face as he suffers is more than I can bear to watch. With a
stranglehold on his throat, Boguet grips down and then throws him
across the path, where he collapses. Arden doesn’t get up.
Somewhere in between all of this action, I transformed into a wolf.
I don’t know what triggered it. A moment ago I was too afraid,
concentrating too hard on trying to make it happen. Now my vision
is washed in a monochromatic lens. The rest of my senses are
overwhelmed. The smell of decay is rich in my nostrils. In the
trees, wind swishes. Small night creatures scramble in the
undergrowth. Unlike the time before, the small advantage I have in
this transformation is that I’m aware that it’s happened. Still,
it’s a struggle to focus. It takes all my energy to be present, in
the moment, and not allow the animal to wholly control my mind with
instinct. Boguet yanks the stake out of his chest. Arden lies
devastatingly still, blood pooling by his forepaw where the snapped
bone has torn through flesh. I slink protectively by his broken
form. The thrum of a growl against my throat is answered in turn by
Boguet. But then the wolf-man’s low growling incomprehensibly
becomes words.

“This life is an injustice,” he says in a gravelly
voice, barely human.

I hunker down, ears laid back, and feel the air on
my gums as I let out a snarl. The bloodied creature backs down as
though somehow he’s done. That’s when I hear the growls behind me,
and the hairs rise on back of my neck. It must be the others,
Trajan and Attila, here to finish us off. I hazard a glance over my
shoulder and see a half-dozen creatures like Boguet. Instinctively,
I put on a show of force, all my body language an indication that
I’m not about to go down without a fight. One of them glances at me
with its human eyes, and it sends a chill through me. I step over
Arden’s body to get a better defensive stance and sense lukewarm
moisture on the pads of my paws, the scent of blood rising up.

In that same rasping voice as a moment ago, one of
the creatures chants, “By the hands of the Hounds of God, we cast
thee back into darkness.”

Even through the distortion I recognize the voice as
Josh’s. He’s not talking to me. It’s Boguet’s confidence that
wavers as he looks between us. He lets out a ferocious series of
barks as the others launch forward in their attack, leaving me to
tend to Arden.

He has returned to the form of a man, shaking as
sweat glides down his brow. When he opens his eyes, I step back.
He’s slumped on his stomach, the wounded arm in front of him. With
his good hand he attempts to remove the chain from around his neck.
It takes several attempts. He feebly tries to put the chain over my
neck. I dodge his effort, the nearness of non-wolf contact ringing
alarm bells throughout my body.

“Listen,” he pleads, short of breath and wheezing
the words. “The venom―”

A spasm rolls through his body and he grits his
teeth. I whine.

“Amara...”

The way he says her name, it’s full of a love I’ve
never known. I can see in the softness of his eyes a sense of
immeasurable loss. I don’t know what’s going to happen next ― if
either one of us will survive the night ― but I feel obliged to let
him carry out this gesture. I step forward, shivering with
trepidation. It takes everything in my human control to allow Arden
to put the chain around my neck. His hand lingers on the fur there,
and I tremble as his lips part to say more. Then his eyes go wide,
and I feel the crack of something hard against the back of my head.
Darkness falls to the sound of Arden screaming out.

24. Beat
The Devil’s Tattoo

M
y head aches. My ears throb. When I regain consciousness,
my vision is blurred, so I can’t say for sure if I’m in human or
wolf form. A mere few inches from my face is Arden. His eyes are
closed, but I’m almost certain he isn’t breathing. In any case,
he’s awfully still for someone who isn’t dead. My skull feels like
it’s filled with lead, and I can’t lift it from the cobblestone
path. I try to scan the area in an attempt to piece together what’s
happening. Fragments of a marble tombstone lie around us. Boguet
has returned to human form again. Although he has a burlap sack
over his head, I can tell it’s him by the tatters of his tweed
suit. His hands are shackled behind him and someone is guiding him
away.

From behind, a hand weaves through the fur of my
neck. Startled, I try scrambling to my feet, only to slip and fall
against the dampness of the stones. There’s a girl kneeling by my
side, stroking the side of my face. I want to ask her if
everything’s alright, but words fail me. As she rises to her feet,
the scent of vanilla washes over me. My heart skips a beat. She
leaves me. As I watch her bare feet walk away, I begin to lose
consciousness again. In the three blinks before I pass out again,
the flickering image of her ankle tattoo brands itself in my
mind.

6

6

6

25. Who’s
Gonna Save My Soul

S
omeone is shaking me. There’s blood on her hands. Even more
alarmingly, I feel it slick on my naked flesh. Is it mine? It’s
odd, because I’m not in pain, but that doesn’t mean anything. My
memory starts to come back. The blood is someone else’s. I stepped
in it while in wolf form. But that all seems like a long time
ago.

“What happened?” Amara asks.

I shake my head numbly. She runs her fingers through
my hair the way a person would through a dog’s ruff. Rolling me
over into her arms, she tries to make eye contact. Avoiding her
stare, I look down and catch a glimpse of the ring hanging from a
chain around my neck. Her fingers touch my chest where the metal
lies against my skin.

“Where is he?” she asks, unable to hide the tremor
in her voice.

There’s a long moment of silence, but somehow she
reads into everything I haven’t told her. Swallowing hard, I remove
the chain from my neck. It’s only then that I notice my trembling.
I allow the chain to fall into her outstretched hand. She just
stares at it, tearlessly. I don’t know what to say. Out of the
corner of my eye I catch a movement nearby. Rodolfus de Aquila
stands by a mausoleum, staring at us. At me. He steps carefully
along the path toward us. Gently, he ushers me up onto my feet and
toward the front gates. I feel my bare footsteps ― damp with blood
― leaving a trail across the stones, thinning out with every step
until they disappear altogether.

A cemetery worker waits for us by a truck. He’s
dressed in overalls and a thick cotton shirt. When we get close to
the vehicle, he merely hands Roul a gardening hose and leaves us in
peace, without so much as a second glance. At this point, I’m
beyond being surprised about the employment of werewolves at places
like world-famous cemeteries. Instead, I brace myself for what’s
about to happen. Roul triggers the nozzle and I close my eyes
against the frigid stream. Blood trickles off my body and swirls
down the gutter at my feet. Shaking, I try to scrub down until I’m
certain it’s all gone. After, he tosses me a rag. When I’m done
toweling off, he hands me another pile of clothes that don’t belong
to me. This borrowing of outfits has been happening too much
lately. I pull on the black trousers and popover shirt. Arden’s
clothes hang loose on my lanky frame. Roul leans against the cab of
the truck, staring out into the dark as I get dressed.

“What are you doing here?” I don’t say it
discourteously, but he hangs his head.

“A pack leader is supposed to protect,” he says.
“I should have been here when it happened. What
did
happen here?”

Leaning back next to him, I take in our
surroundings. There are obvious gaps in my memory. What happened to
Arden, where Boguet was taken, these are things I can’t even begin
to speculate about. But I explain as best I can: how I became a
werewolf, how who I thought were my friends are actually a part of
some vigilante group, how my DNA has led to something that could
wipe out the entire werewolf species, and how the key to it all may
be on the mysterious USB drive that Madison stole.

He takes a deep whiff of the air around us. “I can
still smell their presence here.”

I bang my head on the truck cab and wince at the
sharp pain. The hit I took to the back of my skull throbs with
renewed vigor. “I thought they were my friends.”

“Aren’t they?”

I don’t know the answer anymore. Madison was right.
It’s a steep learning curve. Being human was hard enough. Now that
I’m a werewolf, I don’t even know where to start. Where does my
human life end and where does the wolf’s begin? Who can I trust
when I can’t even have faith in myself? That I’ll still be me at
the core. That whatever happens next, I won’t lose the essence of
who I really am.

“What do I know, Roul?” I reply with a shake of my
head. “It sounds like a cult to me.”

After a thoughtful pause he tells me, “Throughout
history they’ve operated under different names. To humans today,
Heaven’s Hand is a fanatical religious organization opposed to
advancements in science that involve genetic modification. To us,
we’ve always known them as the Hounds. They are the bitten, banded
together to form a society of their own. They believe they answer
to a higher power. All in the name of protecting humankind against
agents of the Devil.”

I cast him a questioning look. He’s still staring
out at the cemetery.

“That would be us,” he explains with a grim smile,
adding, “and also any bitten human who doesn’t join their ranks.
Boguet’s work was clearly deemed to be evil by design.”