Werewolves of Chicago: Curragh (Werewolves of... Book 6) (7 page)

“
Y
ou think she saw
?” They climbed in their car. “She looked at you like she saw.”

Curragh grumbled, “Saw what?” with a slam of the door.

Xavier cut a sharp glance and shoved the key in the ignition. “Your eyes! They were—”

“—I know what my eyes were doing. No. I got a hold of myself before I turned around. Just worry about the road.”

“What was going on back there? You barely controlled—”

“—I’ve got a handle on it!” Curragh couldn’t see the mansions flying by the window. What he’d just told Xavier was a lie. He didn’t have a handle on his wolf. More like the other way around. It was a first. Ever since he was a pup, he’d had control of his emotions. When the wolf was given leave to take over, it still had a leash on it. And when he was angry, in fights, or attacking for any reason, even during those times, he called the shots.

Just now, in there, it hadn’t been a struggle. It was pure war. When they’d left her on the floor, he’d wanted nothing more than to grab her up and take her with him and it took everything he had not to do just that. “We didn’t get Tutors. We were going to bring him with us.”

“And how were we supposed to do that with that detective watching us?”

“You could have tried,” grumbled Curragh.

“Are you really that unaware of yourself?” Xavier demanded. Dropping it, he said, “Well, hopefully the cops will be able to get something out of him. We’ll be listening. And when you want to ‘fess up about that female cop, I’m all ears. You must think I’m pretty fucking stupid.”

Curragh stared out the window. “I need a steak.”

“I bet you do.”

When they got back to the loft, they got another rude surprise. Draik was in a heap on the doormat, bloody and unconscious. His packmates rushed forward and tried to wake him. It was no use. He was cold, too, and wolves run hot.

“He’s on the edge,” Curragh whispered, stunned.

Xavier leapt up and unlocked the door. “Carry him inside.”

Very gently Curragh picked up Draik’s limp body. He’d been beaten badly. Cut, too. He was missing patches of dirty-blonde hair like someone had shaved him for the fun of it. From the cuts, they’d used an old razor. Rushing him to the coffee table, Curragh demanded a pillow and laid him down.

Xavier said, “I’m going to call Howard,” handing it to him.

“Why? Oh. He can sew him up.”

“He’s the only doctor we know, and who knows what we are.”

“Right.” Curragh stared down at the victim, inspecting from a distance the cuts in his friend’s dark jeans and shirt. His belt was gone. He had no shoes. There were burns under his feet. “I’m going to kill whoever did this.”

Xavier said into the phone, “Howard?” raking strained fingers through his hair. “You need to come over here. Bring anything you have to save someone’s life. Now. I’ll text you the address.”

“On my way!” the young wolf exclaimed and hung up.

“He’s too excited,” Curragh grumbled.

Xavier sent the text, and tossed the phone on the couch. He approached Draik, kneeling down. “What can we do?”

“Wait.” Twice today he’d felt helpless. First against Kara’s pull on him, now this.

“Hey.” Xavier pointed to a white corner sticking out from the pocket of Draik’s jeans. “What’s this?” He pulled it out and unfolded blood soaked paper, standing up as Curragh leaned in. In a handwritten black scrawl read:
Stop trying to find me.

A primal growl ripped from Curragh’s lungs and he shifted, clothes shredding from his body, his fangs biting for the paper. Xavier jumped back and kept it out of reach as best he could. “STOP! This might lead us to him!” His eyes glowed dark amber.

The black wolf snarled low, pacing back and forth, palest of pale green eyes on the prize. What Xavier said made sense, but he needed somewhere to put all this pain. He leapt up, fangs lashing out. Xavier jumped back in time, throwing the paper like a ball to a dog to save himself. Curragh’s wolf devoured the thing and let out a long, forlorn howl. Shifting back, he knelt naked on the ground, panting, eyes still glowing.

“Curragh,” whispered Draik. The familiar howl had roused him.

Both packmates spun around and went to him. Their friend’s eyes were slits, his mouth dry and open.

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

“I’m here, too, buddy,” Xavier said, kneeling down again. “You’re going to be okay.”

Draik was breathing strangely, in soft short bursts separated by long pauses. He rasped, “Kill him.”

“I’m going to,” Curragh promised his packmate. “I will fucking murder the man. You have my word.” He cocked a sideways look to Xavier, both of them feeling that he was nearing death. Curragh went to the other side of the table, and he and Xavier both took hold of their friend’s hands, clasping them tightly. The Nordic wolf began panting and then he lost consciousness again. They listened for his heart, theirs suspended. Xavier exhaled loudly. There was a faint heartbeat.

“It’s probably the pain. He passed out from the agony.” They waited a good twelve minutes before a knock came on the door. “I’ll get it.” He threw a warning look over his shoulder that said,
behave yourself.

Curragh hadn’t let go, and he stayed there like that with Draik while Howard rushed in with a leather satchel of supplies. So used to seeing gruesome corpses, Howard Peters did not even pause at the sight awaiting him. Simultaneously falling to his knees as he started unpacking the bag, he asked, “Who did this?”

Xavier paced as he whispered in anger, “A dead man.”

“You’re gonna be okay, buddy,” Curragh told Draik’s sleeping form, gripping his friend’s cold hand. “You’re gonna be okay.” He looked at all the bottles and tools being strewn on the floor around Howard, all within reaching distance. “You can save him…right?”

Howard’s lips were tight. His shaggy light brown hair hung over his glasses as he looked up. “I don’t know. But I’m going to do my best.”

He instructed them to help him disrobe Draik. As they peeled off his clothes, they discovered slashes from where he’d been whipped, slices where he’d been cut, and dark, charcoal like patches where they’d burned him. It wasn’t just his feet. They’d burned him in random places that would hurt when he bent them, like his elbows and knees. On one wrist, too.

Together they worked. They cleaned him with hot towels, and handed Howard whatever he asked for. The scrawny wolf sewed up what could be, and covered all the wounds in heavy aloe vera for healing, and numbing herbal medicine for the pain. Twice Draik screamed himself awake, and both times his packmates gave him whiskey to help. Normal painkillers don’t work on werewolves. It was the best they could do, and in between giving him the booze, they drank some themselves.

It was five torturous hours before they carried Draik to his gauze-covered mattress, and laid him there to sleep. The three backed away, each exhausted.

Curragh’s body was tight and weary, his chest twisted on the inside. He turned to Howard. “Thank you.”

The younger wolf glanced over, tired. “You’re welcome.”

After a weighted pause, Xavier asked, “He’s going to live?”

Howard pushed his glasses up on his nose and nodded. “Yes. We did it.”

S
tanding
out on her balcony with a cup of very hot chamomile tea, Kara watched Chicago from her perch. It looked so beautiful from up here, and she had to admit, she was beginning to feel at home. The detectives on the scene today were different. They treated her with a little more respect, or at least less disrespect. She’d caught a few judgmental glances, but for the most part, it had been a big win in the Kruglov case, and she’d helped make it happen. One step closer to catching the man, when it was usually two steps back. And she’d taken a hit for it. When a cop gets hurt, the others rally and show respect. It’s just the way.

She took a sip and leaned her forearms on the railing, her favorite worn-in T-shirt hanging loosely over blue pajama pants. The air was strangely calm that night, the moon a little more than a sliver. She was exhausted, but it was a good tired. She felt peaceful, maybe for the first time since she’d moved here.

Her thoughts went back to when she found this apartment, a small one bedroom on South Indiana Avenue, only a couple nights after flying in. The exposed brick wall on the street side of the building was charming and reminded her of New York. The rest of the walls were painted white, but she’d yet to hang anything on them. Wanting to start fresh, she’d left all her art and furniture with her ex. The space was even a little larger than the place she’d shared with Mike. So hard to find space in Manhattan. This place was perfect, and the landlady was tickled pink to have a policewoman move in, someone reliable. “Unlike the last couple,” she’d said with a snort. And Kara was more than happy to check out of the hotel. It was depressing not having a place of her own.

Remembering walking up to it for the first time, she glanced down to the quiet street. Her hands tightened around the cup. There, coming toward her building was Curragh. He looked like he smelled the air with purpose. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was hunting something, like an animal might. He had the same crouched stance.

“What are you doing?” she called down, exasperated.

His body straightened up like a shot, eyes locking on her. “Buzz me in.”

She blinked a couple times, turned around, and set down her cup so fast it almost toppled over.
Did he come looking for me? How does he know where I live?
She ran out the door and down the stairs.
Is this just a…no, it can’t be a coincidence. He wasn’t surprised to see me. What is the deal with this guy?

Throwing the front door open to the small six-unit complex, she explained, out of breath, “There is no buzzer. I mean, there was. But it broke.”

He nodded tensely, pointing to her bruised face. “How’s this feel?”

She shrugged, eyeing how tired he looked. “You okay?”

“No.” By his expression, she knew how much he needed her to say yes when he asked, “Can I come in?”

She moved over to let him through and he headed for the stairs without looking back. Shutting the door, she followed him.

“I live on a third floor, too,” he quietly told her, thoughts far away.

“Oh? It’s unlocked.” She watched him grunt and throw the door open. He turned and waited for her to enter before closing and locking it behind them.

“Want something to drink?”

“What have ya got?” He sat on her loveseat, the world on his shoulders.

Her lips parted and she pointed to the kitchen cabinets as one does when thinking. “Ummm, coffee, tea. No, you don’t look like you drink tea.” He shook his head once. “Vodka. I’ve got some Tanqueray gin. Jack Daniels.”

“Jack.” He brought his huge hands up, cradled his head, resting his elbows on his knees. As she went to get the bourbon, she heard him say in a lower register, “Please.” She paused and looked over at him, then continued on to the task. Pouring herself a glass seemed like a good idea, too, and soon she was carrying two short glasses into the living room, the bottle under her arm.

“Here.” She set the bottle down on the glass coffee table. “Thought you might need more.”

He nodded and downed his glass, but didn’t refill it. He turned to her, eyes drained of light. “One of my brothers almost died tonight.”

“You have brothers here?”

“Not by blood. But they may as well be.”

She reached out for him, picturing a stepbrother in a car accident. It didn’t occur to her how wrong her first guess might be. “Oh, Curragh, I’m so sorry.” He pulled her onto his lap. “Is that what this is?” she asked. He followed her finger to the bloodstains on his shirt. He closed his eyes and put his forehead to hers. “Is he going to be okay?” He nodded once.

She began tenderly tracing her lips across his frown, his cheekbones, his shaking eyelids. Finally she pressed her mouth to his and he responded, pulling her close. His arms slowly encircled her, not rough like before. She felt how much he needed the softness of her woman’s heart.

He slipped off the worn out t-shirt she favored sleeping in, and kissed her shoulder a couple soft times. Then he looked into her eyes. He lifted her breasts, one in each strong, warm hand. “I don’t know why I came here.”

She offered a small smile, lacing her fingers in his hair. “I do.”

He tightened his hold on her, molding his mouth sensually with hers. Together they pulled off his bloodied shirt. She traced his chest muscles with feathery fingertips before kissing him again. He lowered her onto the circular rug at their feet and pulled off her pajama pants, trailing kisses down her legs as they became bare. Tossing aside the cotton fabric, he bent his broad torso and kissed her mound. A heat rushed there and she moaned. He came to sit in between her legs and lifted her pussy to his mouth, kissing it softly. The warmth of his breath made her ache with need. He burrowed into her wet folds and slid his tongue ever so slowly up and down until he heard her moan again and again. Kissing her once more, he rose up and tugged off his jeans, tossing them aside. His erection was immense and intimidating. The other places hadn’t afforded her a good look. Surprised, she glanced from the crimson shaft and darker mushroom head to his face. The look in them was so wounded, it tore her up inside. She rose up to touch his face, but he grabbed her hand and brought it to his stiff length, helping her stroke him. “I need you,” he groaned.

“I’m here.” She mounted his lap and slid onto him one wide inch at a time. He stretched her so tight and they moaned together as he completed the journey. Kissing her, he stayed there a moment, his hands clasping her lower back. Then he began to move. He kneeled up, carrying her with him, slowly undulating his hips back and forth. The slick hardness of his manhood brought her so much pleasure, but it was the way he was kissing her that broke her heart.

He began to shake like he was cold, when to her touch, he was quite the opposite. His arms tightened even more around her so that she had barely room to breath. “You’re so strong,” she whispered against his lips. He loosened his hold. “No, I like it,” she confessed. She held his look and their bodies took over. One after the other, their heads fell back in ecstasy, hands running down naked flesh, searching to know each other. The intensity grew as their jaded walls dissolved. Kisses became much more urgent. The grinding more feverish, sweat tickling down their skin. She cried out as her stomach clenched and her walls tightened around him. He groaned loudly and grabbed her mouth with his, holding her in a frozen, painful kiss as they came together. Out of breath, he released her lips and buried his face into her neck, gripping her hair with one of his hands, fingers laced through. It was awhile before either said anything. For this one moment, she forgot what he was and what she was, and what they could never be.