The Wolf in His Arms (The Runes Trilogy) Read online

  The coroner fell to the tiled floor, shrieking, as blood pumped from his shoulder and the white lab coat blossomed dark red. He crawled across the floor and bolted to his feet. Grabbing a scalpel from a tray, he knocked other implements to the floor, and they clanked noisily. “Stay back,” he cried.

  “Oh, stop blubbering,” Griffin dismissed. “I barely bit you.”

  Vincent flashed a winning smile at the trembling man. “See you on the next full moon, sweet cheeks.” He turned to Griffin. “Speaking of sweet cheeks, I want to take a bite out of that receptionist’s ass.”

  “Do tell,” Griffin said in mock formality.

  Vincent patted Griffin on the back. “It’s great to have you back.”

  Griffin halted abruptly. “How about a concert? I feel like hunting.”

  The Post

  The next day, Collin finally spotted Mark at lunch. He nudged Tony as they stood in line for their trays to be filled. They joined Mark, where he sat at an empty table. “So what happened to you yesterday?” Collin asked as he sat. He grimaced at the plate of food on his tray. All the food at the school was fairly unidentifiable; today’s lunch looked like a beef casserole. Collin suspected the main ingredient was horsemeat. It didn’t quite look or smell like beef.

  “They fucking locked me in a small room in the basement and tied me down to a goddamn bed is what they fucking did,” Mark fumed. Several students looked toward him. Mark mugged menacingly at the students who looked away. He cut his eyes back to Collin and Tony, lowering his voice. “They gave me some shot to calm me down. Are they allowed to just give us shit?”

  Collin and Tony looked at each other. They shook their heads. “I don’t know,” Collin admitted. “Did they say what it was?”

  Mark shook his head. “Nope. But I feel like shit today. I’m hungry as hell too.”

  “Is that why you weren’t in class?” Tony asked.

  Mark nodded and shoved a bite in his mouth. “I had chills and sweats all night.”

  “Is this shit any good?” Collin pointed at the food he hadn’t touched yet. Mark nodded, but Tony looked doubtful as he took a bite. He furled his lip in distaste, and Collin shoved his tray away.

  “I’ll eat that if you don’t want it,” Mark offered.

  Collin shoved the tray to him. “What if you had an allergic reaction?”

  “I didn’t even think of that. I’ll sue these assholes.” He gave Tony a high five across the table.

  “You feel okay now?”

  “More or less.” He lowered his voice. “I’m not gonna smart off to that bitch Ms. Ruhl again.”

  “I thought you’d make a break for it after this,” Tony said.

  “Got nowhere to go,” Mark admitted with an amiable shrug. “My mom would run me off if I blew this chance.”

  * * * *

  More than a week had passed since the night in The Fullerton Building, and Tristan was finally bringing himself to upload his footage from the cameras to his computer. His hesitation erupted from two dueling voices: one told him that he did not want to relive that night; the other told him that the footage would belie his memory, that they had been spooked by a stray dog having a litter. He savored the memory of it, the delight of the low calm that effervesces after an adrenaline high, once one reaches safety. He did not want his dream—that he finally captured something supernatural—to be tainted. He held the footage like a lottery ticket, the hope of winning too great to give up for reality.

  Yet a third vice chimed in when his memories of the night flipped to the footprints in the dust. Ghosts don’t leave footprints, the voice told him. No, someone—something—had been with them that night. Tristan sighed as he watched the footage loading onto his computer; he would know soon enough. When the footage finished rendering, he opened all three files, playing footage from each of their cameras on one of the three monitors he had set up in his editing studio.

  He split his attention, screen to screen to screen, with the volume low. He ignored the jumpiness of the camera work, marking good places for cuts and checking shadows for anything he missed that night. Finally, the footage reached the point when they heard the woman’s scream. He turned up the volume. Even through speakers, her cries chilled him. The sound was as he remembered: not fearful but agonized. He felt a little nauseas as the footage jumped around the stairwell—stairs, the railing, a snippet of wall—as they all reacted, their own cries added to the chaos.

  The footage blurred and bounced as they ran into the hallway. Kevin seemed to forget his camera; the upside-down, out-of-focus footage showed the hallway. Molly’s footage trembled, not quite angled on Kevin’s face. Footage from the camera Tristan had mounted on his head proved the most consistent.

  As he poured over the footage, a very clear narrative formed in his mind. Tristan pieced shots together from the various cameras, even using a split at points. In the dim glow on the monitors, a bright smile radiated from his face. He knew he was working on the best video ever posted on their blog.

  Tristan worked late into the night preparing the video for posting.

  Music and Moonlight

  Firelight flickered from barrels in the woods, casting an orange and yellow glow on the trees and snow. Revelers huddled around the barrels to warm their hands. The smoke drifted carelessly into the night. Nearby, on makeshift stages, bands filled the woods with thunderous music, followed by cheers and outlandish cries.

  Colleen Martin looked across the scene, smug satisfaction affixed to her face. Her first winter music festival, Snow on the Keys, was an unabashed success. Lines strung out from every beer truck; crowds surrounded every stage, and more importantly, attendance exceeded her projections. Her mind was already imagining a lineup for next year, including more bands, bigger names. The crowd was the perfect demographic, and her merchandise had sold out. For the first time since planning the winter music festival, she could relax. Colleen grabbed a beer and then trudged to a barrel farthest from the stages.

  She warmed her hands, still smiling at her success. A man stood near her, seeming to enjoy the crowd as much as the music. He wore a red hoodie pulled up against the cold. Colleen liked his stature and eyed him discreetly. He seemed to notice her and aimed pivoted toward her. His smile gleamed in firelight. He cocked his head, but didn’t remove his hands from his pockets. “Great festival,” he said.

  Colleen’s face erupted in a full smile. “This is my baby,” she boasted.

  “No kidding,” he trumpeted. “Wow!” He pulled his hands from his pocket. “I’m Vincent.”

  “Colleen,” she shook his hand, and it was warm, rough, like he worked with them. “So how did you hear about it?”

  “Online, um, an article, I think.” He rolled his shoulders. “I’m not from Chicago. I’m here with a buddy.”

  “Oh, where are you from?”

  “Portland.”

  “I hear great things about Portland.”

  “It’s the best.”

  “But you’re liking Chicago? Well, Chicagoland, anyway,” Colleen conceded, since they were in a park outside the city.

  “I’m loving this festival,” he looked down shyly. “And the company.”

  “Smooth,” Colleen chuckled.

  “What can I say, I got game.” Red flushed his cheeks in an endearing way, and he looked at her across the firelight. She noticed his eyes for the first time. In the light, his eyes shone like lovely mountain pools.

  “I need another beer,” she said, tipping her empty bottle.

  “I was planning on walking to the other stage,” he nodded across the thin stretch of woods. “Maybe I’ll see around?”

  Colleen hesitated only a moment. “I’ll walk with you.”

  “What about that beer?”

  She smiled coyly. “They have beer there too.”

  He jammed his hands back in his pockets and loped along beside her in an aloof manner that made her feel at ease. She thought, This is what they mean by west coast chill. The path between stag
es wound through the trees, but the moonlight filtered between the naked branches showing the way.

  Two men and a woman passed them on the path, and Vincent noted, “That was my friend, Griffin. Looks like he made new friends.”

  “Then you’re free for a while.”

  He stopped walking. “I’m all yours,” he said, arching an eyebrow. His laughter was jovial, careless. Then something changed. Perhaps it was the clouds as they drifted past the moon or he shifted weight from one foot to another, but she realized his eyes were not pools, as she had thought, but deep, dark caverns that emitted an eerie green glow. She took a step back as the moon reflected in his eyes, and she even imagined she could see a skull in the reflection, and she knew, without a doubt: The glint of the moon in his eyes was a warning beacon telling her she should not have come with him. He pulled his hands from his pockets and took a step closer.

  “Let’s get to the stage,” she prompted.

  “Sure thing,” he agreed and stepped back. He flourished his arm to motion her past. Colleen took a step, feeling that she wanted him to walk ahead of her, but afraid to voice it. She felt him at her back, walking closer than she wanted, making her arch her shoulders as if icy fingers brushed her spine. The path widened and firelight danced across their faces, and music and voices washed over them. “Are you still getting a beer?” He asked. “I’ll save you a spot by the stage.”

  Colleen studied him, questioning her fear, but still wondering if she had escaped something awful. “Yeah, I’ll be just a few minutes.” He vanished into the crowd, sauntering toward the stage, his hands tucked in his pockets. She turned for the beer truck. She avoided the massive line and helped herself. She ignored the grumbling from patrons and flashed a quick smile at the beer truck workers as she dashed out with two beers. She was maneuvering through the crowd when she thought she heard a shriek pierce through the clamor. She halted like a stop-motion figurine to train her ears over the music and chatter. She shook her head and wove through more patrons toward the stage.

  Another scream, followed quickly by others, until a chorus of screams resounded over the quieting crowd. Suddenly the music splintered into discordant notes as the band stopped playing. “Is that a joke?” The lead singer asked into the microphone, nodding toward the woods. The crowd turned in unison. Those in the back of the crowd, closest to the woods, saw what the band questioned. More screams rippled across the crowd.

  Near the stage, Colleen was too immersed in the crowd to see. She climbed on the stage rigging for a better vantage. Her jaw dropped at what she saw. Three people staggered out of the woods. A woman howled as blood poured from slashes down her face. Shrieking, a man staggered behind her. His nearly severed arm dangled at his side. A second man crawled along the frozen ground, his intestines trailing behind him from a jagged hole in his guts. Colleen’s first thought was shooter, but she realized she hadn’t heard gunfire.

  Then she noticed movement in the woods. Shimmering green eyes peered out of the darkness amid the trees. As the beast walked, the eyes vanished behind a tree, only to reappear closer.

  The werewolf burst from the woods, tackling several people to the ground. Screaming shook the night as people panicked. The crowd surged toward the stage, fleeing the beast. In their hysteria, patrons pressed, shoved, elbowed, and trampled one another. The lead singer’s screech, caught by the microphone, thundered above the chaos. Colleen turned to see the band jumping from the stage. The crowd pressed harder, and some people were climbing onto the stage as the werewolf leaped into the crowd, swiping and biting anyone in reach. The crowd split away from the beast like the parting of the Red Sea. Some people fled from the crowd into the woods; others clambered onto the stage; most ran toward the main stage. Mangled people crawled away from the thrashing beast. Blood stained the snow in great, growing patches. In the tumult, the crowd knocked over the fire barrels. Fire danced along the ground. Colleen saw someone running, covered in flames.

  Then the rushing, panicked crowd realized that the first werewolf was herding them to a second werewolf coming from the main stage. Suddenly, wounded people surrounded the crowd as the beasts worked toward each other, leaving a path of slashed skin and rendered limbs in their wake. A woman staggered into Colleen. Her face was slashed open to the bone. Fat dangled from the slashes, and Colleen could see the woman’s tongue through the wound. The woman stood and wailed, and the horrid sound hissed through the hole in her cheek.

  Colleen shoved her away and dived under the stage, pulling the skirt closed behind her. The floor rumbled above her as more and more patrons ran across the stage. Suddenly, the stage trembled, and she realized one of the beasts had leaped onto it. She tucked herself up inside the rigging and closed her eyes. She pressed her hands to her ears to drown out the screams that kept echoing through the woods.

  Scripture

  Ilene stood in the doorway for a moment watching Lucy translate more of the strange pages. The mugs of tea she held grew hot against her hands and she walked in. “I never asked where those pages came from,” Ilene said.

  “I’ve been waiting for that.”

  “I guess you’ve been waiting for me to ask about your eyes, too.” Ilene sat, placing one mug of tea in front on Lucy.

  “Mom,” Lucy began then stopped. She sighed. “You’re smart. You seem to understand everything far more than we ever guessed.”

  “So, the night of the fire, he bit you?”

  “Scratched.”

  Ilene nodded solemnly. “Is that why you avoided us for so long?” Although she controlled her voice, her eyes betrayed her heartache.

  Lucy felt her mother’s pain. “I didn’t know what to do. I was scared of hurting you both. Because of what I am.”

  “What you are is our daughter.”

  “And one night every month, I’m a monster.”

  “How do you—where—?”

  “In the basement of an abandoned building. It’s hard to find a place to restrain oneself safely,” Lucy admitted.

  “And that is why Rene—” Ilene stifled her question.

  Lucy nodded, and tucked her head down in sadness.

  “He loved you immensely,” Ilene acknowledged. “We knew that. He was a good man.”

  “He was.” Lucy felt a need to change the subject. Too much was still jumbled in her mind to deal with old anger. “What all does Dad know?”

  “Next to nothing.”

  Lucy braced herself. “How do you know so much?”

  “You saw the sheet. I was the target, part of the experiment.”

  “That doesn’t explain how you know.”

  “I knew Darius, years ago. I let him in my life, and I’ve been paying for it ever since.”

  The words stung Lucy, and she had a vague memory of an attractive man coming to the door when she was a child, and suddenly, the memory made sense. She felt a bitterness pop within her, like the germination of a seed, and she took a deep breath. “Did Dad know?”

  “Yes.”

  Lucy turned her head sharply, not looking at her Ilene. She took a sharp breath, one rasping with tears. She spread her hands on the table, trying to remain calm. If her father had forgiven her mother, then she could too. It was not her place to judge. And besides, she had to focus on more important—and present—dilemma. “How do we tell Dad that Jared is alive?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.” Ilene said tentatively, wondering if the storm had passed. “I haven’t thought of anything.

  “How about we just show him?” Jared suggested, staggering into the room.

  “You should be in bed,” Ilene and Lucy advised at the same time.

  “You both sound like Alec. I’m tired of lying in bed.”

  “You’re still weak.”

  “Give me a few days. Then, we’ll show Jason.”

  “Speaking of,” Ilene said, standing, “I better get home, if we’re to keep this ruse up for a few more days.” She kissed Lucy on the forehead, then Jared, and Alec as he entered t
he room.

  “You’re leaving?” Alec asked.

  “For now. I’ll be back.” She left the room, and a moment later, they heard the front door open and close.

  “Any new developments?” Alec asked.

  “Some, but it’s slow.”

  “Well?”

  Lucy gave in to Alec’s prodding. “I made some headway on the Resurrection page.”

  “Where are Maxwell and Haley?” Jared interrupted.

  “I sent them to Las Vegas.”

  “Just the two of them?”

  Alec placed a gentle hand on Jared’s shoulder. “They went to Portland on their own and did fine.”

  “They’re how we knew to go after you,” Lucy added. She turned her attention back to the page. “I think I know why Griffin shot you.” She looked at Jared and then pointed to a line on the page she translated. “It looks like the resurrection is the trigger—it wakes the werewolf.”

  “I felt it. While lying in the morgue, I could feel the wolf for the first time.”

  “And Maxwell said that Vincent kicked his way out of the morgue.”

  “But what about me,” Alec questioned. “Why did I change?”

  Lucy and Jared glanced at each other uneasily, before Lucy answered, “Alec, you died a couple of times after Darius attacked you.”

  “And I only changed now?” He pushed away from the table. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I think that seeing Jared die was a strong emotional trigger,” Lucy explained, “that it made the change happen.”

  “What about the night of the fire? I’d call that ‘a strong emotional trigger’.”

  “Alec—”

  “What, Jared?” Alec snapped.

  “Why are you reacting like this?”

  Tears welled in Alec’s eyes. “What if I can’t control it now?”

  Jared cut his eyes to Lucy before arguing, “But I think you did control it...for months.” Jared reached for Alec, but Alec pulled away. “I said I felt it, but I also controlled it.”

  “Can we count on that?”