Lycan Moon: An Urban Fairy Tale (Lycan Evolution Book 1) Read online

  She closed her eyes and pictured his face, trying to focus on the good times they’d had, the love she held for him. She finally allowed herself to accept the realization that he hadn’t walked away from his encounter a month prior. In these final moments, there was no need for the lie of false hope.

  Ro wondered if his end had been like this ... if his thoughts had been of her as hers now turned his way. A solitary tear leaked from the corner of her eye, and she whispered, “I’m coming, Dad. See you soon.”

  She turned her head and prepared for the final blow as the growl deepened within the beast’s throat.

  The growl, however, changed to a loud snuffle as the creature inhaled sharply. The pressure on her chest abruptly disappeared, replaced by the chill of the damp night. When she dared open her eyes again, the wolf had backed away from her, its red eyes watching her warily.

  All thoughts of death fled her mind in an instant, her training pushing its way to the forefront. She didn’t know why this whelp had spared her, but she wouldn’t waste the opportunity.

  Quick as she could, she scrambled for her gun.

  But by the time she reached it and raised her arm to aim, the only thing she saw was the empty alleyway in front of her. Once again, she was alone.

  4

  “You’re quiet today. Even more so than usual, and that’s saying something.”

  Ro turned toward Kamika and tried her best to smile. It wasn’t hard. Kamika was one of the nicest people she knew, a nurse who truly cared. She had nerves of steel in even the direst of situations, yet always seemed to know exactly what to say to family and patients when things didn’t look good. She’d have made a good hunter, except she was dedicated to saving lives, not taking them. She was the type of person Ro might have wanted to be in a different life.

  “Long night.”

  “Hmm, let me guess ... a long night with a certain detective who keeps sending flowers to the nurses’ station?”

  Beneath her smile, Ro gritted her teeth. “No. He’s a different sort of issue. And not in that way ... at least not anymore. Let’s just say he won’t take the hint.”

  “Doesn’t sound like too much of an issue to me. Tall, dark, handsome...”

  “And the type to remind you of it every five minutes. Believe me, sometimes rotten things come in cute packages.”

  Kamika laughed. “Well, send him my way after you break his heart. I’ll be happy to rock his world, although I might demand chocolate as well as flowers.”

  “Trust me. He’ll eventually ruin it by opening his mouth.”

  “Who’s to say I won’t keep his mouth occupied, put his flapping tongue to better use?”

  Ro snorted with laughter. She couldn’t help it. “Feel free to shut him up, if you can. As for me, I’m looking for something ... more, I guess, and Kane McGregor simply isn’t it.”

  “Okay, so if it isn’t the hot cop, what’s eating at you, then?”

  Ro couldn’t tell her about her missing father, or the fact that two days prior she’d tracked down a werewolf only to spend half the night getting her ass kicked and the other half icing her bumps and bruises.

  A brief memory crossed her mind of being pinned down by the beast, of ruing her lonely existence and wanting it to end. Kamika deserved so much more from a friend than she could give her.

  How wonderful would it be to have someone like her to bounce hunting strategies off of, instead of an ass like Kane who was too busy thinking of ways to get back into her pants. After a while, it all became too much for one person to take. She had so much to get off her chest or, barring that, to take out on someone’s ass.

  But that would have to wait until the next full moon.

  “You know what you need,” Kamika said, inserting herself between Ro and her workstation. “You need a night out. You’re long overdue.”

  Ro hesitated.

  “Come on, we’re all heading out after the shift is over. You can’t bail this time. It’s been forever since you hung out with us. Reggie will be heartbroken if you don’t go.”

  Ro smiled minutely. “Not interested.”

  “I’m not trying to set you up. I’m just saying that Reg has had a boner with your name on it ever since you started here.”

  “Ro is only two letters.”

  Kamika snickered. “Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there? What’s the harm?”

  Ro was well aware of her co-worker’s crush, but she didn’t care to encourage it either. “It just seems like a bad idea to me. Workplace romance, combined with me not really looking for anything serious...”

  “Fine. Just give him a pity fuck, then.”

  Ro narrowed her eyes.

  “Or don’t. It’s good either way. Just come out with us and have some fun. You look like you need it.”

  Ro let out a breath. She knew she’d never hear the end of it until she finally agreed. “Okay, you win, but give me some time to get ready first. I want to clean up after I’m done here.”

  That was a lie. She wanted to head back to the scene of her encounter with the wolf, see if there was anything she’d missed, some clue that would help her track down the whelp’s human guise.

  It was probably futile, of course. She’d already combed through the alleyway with a fine-toothed comb and found nothing of substance, but it was better than sitting and waiting for the next four weeks to pass.

  She glanced toward Kamika. Maybe her friend’s persistence was a good thing. At the very least, it would ensure she didn’t spend all night searching for leads that simply weren’t there.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Dean’s eyes tracked the red-haired figure as she hurried down the street past his former home. She seemed familiar for some reason. He was momentarily tempted to follow, see if he could get a good look at her face, but knew it would be stupid. She probably just reminded him of one of his former conquests in less sober times. Besides, he had more important things to worry about.

  He crossed the street, purposely avoiding what had once been his home. A pang of regret filled him at the thought of his parents, but he ignored it and focused on the task at hand. Grief was useless to him, so he allowed anger to fill those voids instead. The rage at what had happened to him and his family, it helped keep his resolve sharp.

  He flexed his right hand and grimaced. The wound still burned as if it were fresh. The gauze he’d wrapped around his palm did nothing to dull the pain, but it did help staunch the continuous drip of blood. It still oozed enough that he had to change the bandage every few hours, but he was able to hide the injury beneath his leather gloves. It was slowly getting better, slowly being the operative word. For some reason his preternatural healing, which seemed to fix every other damned injury, didn’t seem to want to touch this one.

  He walked two long blocks to a more commercial area. Loud music thumped from the basement entrance of an unmarked club, still going strong despite the rest of the buildings in the neighborhood being dark. A heavily muscled bouncer blocked the entrance until Dean said, “I’m here to see Strike. He’s expecting me.”

  The goon glowered at him for a moment before allowing him entrance. Dean made his way past the bar and through the dancers undulating to a hypnotic rhythm that played in sync with the strobe lights. Not so long ago, he would have joined them on the dance floor after first knocking back some shots at the bar. But not tonight. Probably not ever again.

  He approached the table at the back where he knew he would find Strike. Dean had no idea what the asshole’s real name was – probably something unthreatening like Sheldon or Bryce. He was almost certain it would be something that didn’t fit the guy sitting at the table. Scantily clad women hung off him like Christmas tree ornaments.

  The so-called pack leader leaned back against the leather booth, eyes half-closed as he watched Dean approach. With a casual wave of his hand, he ordered the ornaments off the tree, so to speak. A familiar face crawled out from beneath t
he table, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Strike grabbed her arm before she left and pulled her in for a rough kiss. “You remember Darla, right, buddy?” When Dean didn’t answer, he added, “Go have some fun, baby. I’ll come get you later.”

  “You’d better,” she purred, before slinking away.

  He gave her a wink before turning back toward Dean. “I’m gonna assume you have my money. Darla sucks like a Hoover, as I’m sure you remember, so naturally I’m inclined to be a little upset that you interrupted us.” He stood slightly, adjusted his pants, then sat back down and poured himself a shot from the bottle on the table in front of him.

  “Your blue balls are your own problem. I’m here to talk, not pay.” Dean eyed the guards flanking the table. They’d been casually observing the exchange but now tensed up.

  “Really? That’s interesting, because I seem to recall we had a deal.”

  “Yeah, and that deal was you’d give me a safe house and some stuff that would work.” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, a movement that caused the guards to reach into theirs before Strike stayed them with a quick wave of his hand. Dean paused for a moment to see if he was going to be peppered with gunfire, then produced a small glass bottle and set it on the table. “The cage in the house isn’t worth shit, and this crap is worth even less. I still changed.”

  Strike waved a hand dismissively. “Of course you changed. The mixture doesn’t prevent that and you know it.”

  “No, I mean, my mind changed, too. I lost myself again. I can barely remember anything. It didn’t work.”

  “So?”

  “So?! I got out again!”

  “Hmm.” Strike leaned back and tapped a gold-ringed finger against his lips. “Guess your better half doesn’t like being crated.”

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  He raised his shoulders in an unconcerned manner. “Maybe we need an adjustment in your dosage.”

  “Seriously? This is bullshit, man. I’m not paying to be some fucking guinea pig.”

  “Let me make one thing clear, pretty boy. This isn’t one of your daddy’s little science experiments, nor is it a fucking cure. The results are different for everyone. Just ask my boys here.” He gestured at the two hulking guards flanking him, neither of whom struck Dean as the type to have a thought unless it was given to them first. “Some need a little. Some need a lot. Some don’t respond at all. But before we jump to any conclusions, we can try a stronger dosage.”

  “That’s what you said last month. You’d better not be playing me.”

  “Strong words from someone who was begging for my help not too long ago.”

  “I had no other choice and you know it.”

  “You may not have a choice, but I do, and right now I’m choosing to get real tired of your attitude. Now, start talking nicely to me or I’ll have my boys here see how many new assholes they can cut in your hide.” When Dean held his tongue, Strike opened a metal case at his side and pulled out two small glass vials. “Better. This is the strongest dose I give out. I gotta warn you, though. This concentration has proven to have the occasional adverse effect.”

  “Like?”

  “Like death, genius.” Correctly reading the distaste on Dean’s face, Strike continued. “As I said, this isn’t an exact science. Wolfsbane is poisonous to normal humans, and it isn’t exactly healthy for us either, but I’ve been doing this for a while and my formulations are the best you’re ever going to find.”

  When Dean continued to hesitate, he sighed. “You know what? I think I’ll give you another choice. The price is now double. Consider it an asshole tax. If you don’t want it, no skin off my back, but just remember the risk you’re taking when the next full moon comes.” He locked eyes with Dean for several long seconds, then turned to the goon on his left. “Nico, please escort our guest to the checkout area.”

  Dean somehow resisted the urge to throw a fist at Strike’s infuriating grin.

  As he walked away, Strike called after him, “And don’t forget, rent is due soon. Don’t make me double that, too, pretty boy.”

  “Don’t bother. I found a new place.”

  “Did you now?” Strike asked. “Good for you. Drop your keys off and don’t bother asking for your security deposit back.”

  Dean gritted his teeth and followed Strike’s goon to a dark corner where a scrawny man with a cigar hanging out of his mouth was counting bills and tabulating receipts. Without looking up from his laptop, he asked, “How many?”

  “Two. He said they were the strongest dose.”

  The scrawny man held a hand out for the money while his other continued to type. With a roll of his eyes, Dean reached into his jacket, extracted a wad of bills, and dropped it onto the table. The other man lifted his head to finally look up at him. “Let’s see those vials. Gotta make sure they pass quality assurance.”

  Dean handed them over, both filled with a pale blue liquid. The scrawny man examined both, an action Dean didn’t quite understand given his boss had been the one to supply them, then handed the vials back to him. “Five hundred.”

  “It’s all there.” Dean nodded toward the roll of bills on the table.

  “Boss said to double the price,” Nico interjected from behind him.

  That elicited a grin from the cashier. “An even grand, then.”

  Dean clenched his jaw. “I don’t have that much with me.”

  “Aww, what a shame. Pity we don’t take coupons.” He grabbed the cash off the table. “Come back with the rest. In the meantime, I’ll put these on layaway for you.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  A few minutes later, Dean was back on the street, cursing under his breath as he walked. With both his and his parents’ accounts frozen, he was quickly running out of cash. He’d gotten lucky in finding the new place upstate, a forgotten asset in one of his parents’ many investment portfolios. Financing all the supplies he needed as well as the necessary reinforcements Coop requested had pretty much wiped him out, though.

  At this rate, they’d be lucky to last a couple of months, especially with the rates Strike demanded for his so-called treatment. At the very least, he’d have to learn to watch his mouth around the man.

  He’d started working on his own formulation, but so far had no more success than with Strike’s mixture. Hell, it was a shot in the dark. He had no proof the plant actually worked at all, just folklore and the word of an asshole drug dealer.

  As he considered his options, his mind turned back toward the old man still under his and Coop’s care. At first, Dean had been excited about the prospect of the hunter’s immunity, perhaps too excited. Though he knew breakthroughs didn’t work that way, a part of him had been disappointed when his first few tests with the man’s blood samples hadn’t yielded any fruit.

  That the hunter didn’t seem to be getting better wasn’t helping matters. A whole month spent feverish and delirious, he’d become worse in the past week until Dean was sure the old man was going to die, but then he had improved a bit the last day or so.

  He hadn’t turned. That much Dean knew. In fact, the main reason he’d gotten out this time was because Coop had been preoccupied with making sure the old man didn’t suddenly wake up as a four-hundred pound monster wolf. At the very least, that meant there had to be something to that immunity story.

  The hunter’s health was a concern, though. It was like his body was in a deadlock, holding its own against the infection, but not making any headway either for some reason.

  Dean stopped walking as he thought this through. The infection that caused the curse was slowly overrunning the hunter’s body. The old man was tough, that much was evident, but at best he was barely keeping the fever in check.

  Wait! Maybe that was it. Not only had it kept the old man from recovering, but it was also likely the reason Dean had failed to derive a serum from his blood. The hunter’s entire system was tainted.

  He needed a pure s
ample, they both did. An infusion from a matched blood type could potentially boost the old man’s system, assuming a donor could be found. It would have to be soon, though.

  Equipment and know-how weren’t his problems at the moment, but cash was. If things got bad enough, he might need to start hocking that equipment and then both he and the old man would truly be up shit’s creek. So whatever needed to be done, had to be done quickly.

  He glanced down at his injury, recalling some of the few memories he managed to retain from his change. Perhaps he already knew the answer.

  Someone else had tracked him down during this month’s change, a woman ... a red-haired woman.

  Dean turned and looked around, remembering the person he’d seen on his way to Strike’s. That had to have been the reason she looked so familiar, but he’d been too goddamned preoccupied at the time to even consider it. And of course she was nowhere to be seen now.

  She’d handled herself well during their battle, perhaps even better than the old man had. There was no doubt in his mind that she was another hunter.

  Two in as many months. I’d better find a cure soon, because if my luck continues along this path, I’m toast.

  It was too much to be a coincidence. It was time to go home and talk to the old man, see if he was coherent enough to answer a few questions. Dean had a sneaking suspicion his guest knew where to find this girl who could very well be the key to salvation for them both.

  5

  Ro followed the crowd to the nearest subway station and took her usual train downtown to the hospital. When she emerged onto the street, she hurried the couple of blocks to the employee entrance and swiped her key card. She’d overslept thanks to another nightmare. That was almost two weeks in a row now. Her mind constantly replayed the encounter in the alleyway with the whelp. Sometimes the dream ended as it had in reality. Other times, her subconscious was far less kind.

  Despite the hours her nighttime excursions required, she’d never been late for a shift, so she practically sprinted down the hall to the locker room. She stripped off her bag and jacket, secured them in her locker, made sure she had her badge clipped on, and swiped in at the nurse’s station where Kamika was already getting report on her patient assignment.