Page 22 of Wolf Bane (Marked #3)
Landry Babin: Hybrid. Bitten by potentially infected/symptomatic juvenile (Melly). No symptoms post day one. Further contact with others on list—Mariska, Justin, Robards.
I made a few more notes on my list, including a little side scrawl to talk to Justin about setting up a time to speak with Gina Perrin and for me to follow up with her about it, and opened up the files on the flash drive Tyler had assured me was clean.
It took about two hours to go through everything, to find what I needed to make my lists.
By the time I glanced up, bleary-eyed and hungry and in desperate need of the bathroom, I realized it was already well into the evening and Ethan wasn’t back yet.
Checking my phone, I saw two texts from Tyler sent less than half an hour before, one telling me Ethan was on his way back and the other that Ethan’s phone was dead.
Because of course it was.
I swallowed down the irrational urge to decide it was intentional, that he’d let it die to avoid talking to me—that was insecurity talking, maybe frustration about the new job keeping us apart for so long too.
Instead, I checked the time again—if he left Tyler’s half an hour ago, he’d be home any minute—and got up to take care of the urgent call of nature before heading to the kitchen to figure out food.
I was on the verge of just ordering Thai when footsteps outside caught my ear.
At first, I felt a flutter of relief and pleasure—Ethan was home.
But it was tempered quickly by two things: The steps were moving past the door, around the side of the house, and they were far too light to be Ethan’s.
And a third thing: My run, hide, fear, panic senses were kicking in to high gear. But I held still, kept my breathing slow and even—Ethan had been damn good about making me practice these things during his Werewolf 101 sessions that, admittedly, usually ended in naked time because why the hell not.
Instead of fighting my senses as I’d done for most of my life, I leaned into them, let them do what they were made to do.
The steps stopped between my house and Mal’s.
They were waiting to see if they were noticed.
Between our houses was a bit of green, the property line not exactly generous, and some thick hedges because suburbia.
But if someone was looking out their kitchen window, they’d be able to see whoever it was standing there.
Did they want to be noticed?
Was this some weird prank? Maybe I was overreacting, and it was just the meter-reader running late on their rounds or something.
I eased closer to the window, just a few inches to the right of the fridge.
It wasn’t full dark yet, but definitely dusk, casting the space between our houses into deep shadow.
My eyes adjusted quickly, though, and I could make out the tall, lean shape of a man facing Mal’s house before lowering into a crouch, his back to me.
Quietly, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sent a text to Mal.
Me
Don’t freak out. don’t say anything. There’s someone watching your house. Stay with Mariska.
Mal
WHAT THE FUCK?
The man moved, keeping low. He wasn’t going fast, just sort of… sniffing? What the fuck? He was too close to the backdoor for me to go out without him noticing, so I hesitated a moment longer , watching.
Okay, more like silently freaking out, but it came out to the same thing in the end.
When the man started to move with more direction, in a diagonal towards Mal’s backyard, the whispers that usually told me to stay still, to go unnoticed, the same part Ethan and Tyler and even Waltrip had been helping me get in touch with, pushed forward and I was moving too.
I didn’t shift; I still didn’t have much of a handle on that, though I’d improved since the beginning of summer.
It was a hit or miss thing, really; I could manage a partial change which was…
well, horrifying, to be honest. In the moment it felt right and freeing, but afterwards, the knowledge that I’d been not one thing or the other, that I was some—to me—monstrous mix of wolf and human with clawed hands but human legs, wolf-like face but human shape, was a mindfuck I didn’t want to repeat more than I had to.
And right now, at least, I didn’t have to. I threw open the back door, already at a run. “Hey!” I shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”
The man pivoted in his crouch, teeth bared as he lunged towards me.
Despite my best efforts at fancy footwork, he managed to catch me in a flying tackle that my one season of pee-wee football had done nothing to prepare me for.
We hit the ground with a solid thump, limbs tangling as I tried to push him off me while he tried to make sure I didn’t. He snarled against my ear, “Found you.”
“Gross,” I panted. “Your breath stinks, asshole.” I twisted, wiggling up against the grass as I tried to get purchase enough to push back. He grinned, a flash of nicotine-yellowed teeth in the shadows and let loose a rumbling growl from low in his chest.
Of course he was a were. Because that was life now.
My knee made contact with something soft and fleshy. He oofed , his grasp slackening just enough for me to get my arm free. The back fist I managed wasn’t a strong one, but it made him flinch. Seizing the new opportunity, I bared my teeth and snapped at him.
It felt right, and I didn’t know how to parse that. Never in my life had I thought about biting someone in a fight. The man grinned again, feral, and snarled back.
“Hey!”
Shit . Mal.
“Hey! Get off him!”
“Get inside,” I shouted, thrashing in the man’s strong grasp. “Get back!”
“Don’t worry.” The man laughed, breathless. “I don’t want him.”
Mal shouted something else, but I couldn’t make it out.
Between the rush of blood in my ears and, well, the whole this guy is trying to kill me thing, I was a little distracted.
Despite being stronger than a fully human man my age and activity level, I was still getting my ass kicked because this were attacking me apparently never missed arm and lats day.
Or leg day. Or, well, any day from the feel of things.
Anywhere I tried to strike, kick, or bite was rock-solid.
My one solace was that he was breathing a bit hard, so at least I felt like I was actually doing something other than flopping like a landed fish while he just held me in place.
More voices were shouting out, someone screamed—too old to be Mariska, too shrill to be Mal—and the were atop me glanced up, relaxing his hold on my arms just enough for me to work free and bring my partially clawed fingers up to scrape across his face.
His teeth sank into my forearm without warning—or maybe that snarl was the warning.
Pain shot through me, whiting my vision around the edges as he shook his head, clamping down harder than I thought possible.
My breath left my lungs in a whoosh, taking all hope of sound with it.
Everything narrowed down to the gush of my blood and the sharp pressure of his teeth as he tore away, bloody mouth open in a silent howl.
Pain was lightning, searing across my nerves, seizing my muscles into rigor.
Mal’s shouting, the shrill screaming, it was lost in the blue-white haze of shock.
Awareness slammed back in a sickening lurch, the ground no longer beneath me.
I was moving, or being moved rather, jolting against a hard back, my arm dripping blood as my attacker moved fast. Bile rose in my throat, choking me, as we moved towards the creek along the back of the property.
Who all could see us, I wondered, did anyone realize what was happening or did they think this was some game, some prank, something gone wrong they could ignore.
Blood pulsed hot and slick, leaving a trail I knew the were could smell. He knew it would lead others to us.
Unless he planned on leaving me somewhere at the end of it, somewhere it didn’t matter if he was followed because I would be all that was left, and he’d be long gone.
He splashed into the creek, water too cool on my skin. The distant thought of infection, bacteria, oh God, parasites , moved sluggishly through my thoughts before everything became too fuzzy, too cold, too dark for me to think of anything at all.