“Come on, boy.” Lorena coaxed Clem. “You can have fun with your cousins, too.”
Clem wasn’t a particularly social dog and Deacon left him out because he never caused trouble. She’d been insisting Deacon needed to stop babying him, though. After all, he was a hero.
The other dogs jumped around the interior of the fence, barking. Clem gazed at them with plaintive, wary eyes.
Lorena sat down on the grass next to the fence and patted the ground beside her. “Come on, you attacked a Wolvite. You can’t say hi to other dogs?”
The dogs gathered in front of her, poking their noses through the links in the fence. Lorena patted their snouts and let them lick her hand. Clem sat beside her, ears drooped.
“I know it’s hard. But if Jack can hop back in, you can too.”
They sat there for a while. The other dogs eventually ran off to play. Clem stretched out beside her and rested his head on her thigh.
“Look how much fun they’re having.” Lorena sat back on her hands. “That could be you in there.”
Clem sighed and huffed.
A few minutes later, footsteps swished through the grass behind her. She looked around. Jack approached, a beer in hand, sunglasses on.
“What’s going on down here? Are they in jail?”
The dogs ran excitedly to the fence. Jack stuck his arm over and patted them as they jumped and barked.
“I’m trying to convince Clem to get in and play,” she said. “You know he’s a wimp.”
“He’s always been an outcast. You know Deacon found him in an old barn he was helping take down? No one knows how he got there or who he belonged to. He was about six months old at the time.”
“The rescued stray. My favorite story.”
Jack continued petting the dogs. “He’s always been the reluctant sort. Guess maybe he came from hard times.”
She resisted the urge to point out that though Clem may have been reluctant, he acted, and acted boldly, when it was important.
Jack stepped away from the fence and squatted beside her, holding his beer between his knees. He patted Clem’s back. “So you decided to stay in Blue Ditch.”
“I always liked field work anyway. Specializing in one thing is easier. Although…” She wasn’t sure if she should bring up Wolvites yet. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll have work here. There isn’t much going on. I’m afraid Dr. Winston is going to find me superfluous.”
“I reckon there aren’t many left around here.” He continued petting Clem. “Those that survived, they probably had the sense to get away.”
“I’ve found a few signs, here and there. But I don’t know if there’s enough to be worth studying.”
Jack looked toward the trees on the other side of the dog pen. “I don’t reckon they’ll ever be gone from here completely. They like it here. And knowing what we know now, I wouldn’t be surprised nohow if they got their backs up again eventually.”
“Knowing what we know now, it has become a completely different field of study. Dr. Winston wants to know about their human forms. But I don’t know if right here, right now, I can help him with that.”
Jack stopped petting Clem. “I reckon their human forms aren’t their natural forms. It ain’t what they are.”
“Why do you say that?”
“When we kill ‘em, they stay animals. You ain’t never seen a dead Wolvite turn into a human, have you? The animal form must be their base form. They can just turn into humans when they want to. Sorta like a reverse werewolf.”
Lorena pondered. “According to what Abernathy said, only witches and other humans that they allow can see their human forms. Maybe it’s just—some kind of magic that creates their Wolvite form.”
“Why wouldn’t you see them as human when they die, then? You’re a witch.”
He had a good point.
“They’re clever.” Jack took a sip of his beer. “More than we thought, if they been playing this game as long as they have, tricking the world into thinking they’re just dumb animals.”
“Not that clever. I mean, tricking the world into thinking that is what got so many of them killed.”
“I suppose so. But it’s what almost got this whole town overrun, too.”
They fell into silence. Lorena looked down at Clem. He was now asleep.
“I’m glad you stayed,” Jack said. “You make Deacon happy. It’s good to see him happy.”
She smiled. “He makes me happy too. That’s why I hope I don’t have to find a new job that takes me away from him.” She paused. “I’m glad you’re back. You make him happy too. He needs someone to make bets with. Who won, by the way?”
Jack shook his head. “Him, of course. It’s okay, I’ll win my five bucks back on something soon enough.”
She chuckled. Clem stretched with a soft whine. She patted his side.
Jack looked down at his beer can. “By the way, you don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. I’ve dealt with things. It’s gonna be much easier on me if y’all don’t act like nothing ever happened.” He looked up at her. “I mean that. Things ain’t gonna be normal for a while, but I’ll get there. Being in denial won’t do nothing for me.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry if it seems like I’m dancing around things. I just…we all want you to be okay here again. Your family has missed you.”
“Yeah, I know. We’re all gonna have to get right together.”
He rose from his squatting position. She tilted her head back and looked at him. He towered over her, not as tall as Deacon, but damn close.
“Reckon we ought to go get some grub.” He looked toward the house. “Before that bunch vacuums it all up.” He glanced down at Clem. “Maybe it’s all just an act so he can stay out the pen and get some chicken legs. He could be a dang sight smarter than the rest of them.”
Clem lifted his head sharply and looked at him, as though Jack had spilled his secrets. Lorena cracked up.
The food was amazing, the perfect storm of southern cuisine prepared by skilled hands and meat-searing men. Anything home cooked still delighted her. How she hadn’t put on a hundred pounds yet was a marvel.
Sitting in a lawn chair with a heaped up plate of food and a beer in her cup holder, Lorena watched as Deacon, Jack, and Zeke stood together, holding their own plates and yammering at each other between mouthfuls. Deacon was lit up in a way she hadn’t seen since Jack left.
Stacy plunked down in a chair beside her. “Don’t eat the collards. She under seasoned them again.”
Lorena pushed at the dab of them she’d wedged onto her plate. “I just took some to be polite.”
“That was a beautiful move with the muffin earlier. If you’re lucky she won’t talk to you for weeks.”
Hazel hovered around the food tables and made sure everyone filled up their plates. Lorena, ever paranoid, watched her hands to make sure she didn’t put anything in the food. She had hinted her concerns to Stacy, though never fully came out and said it. She didn’t want to tear Deacon’s family apart.
Lorena got up to get another biscuit. Unfortunately, this brought her close to the table where Hazel stood. The old woman piled a plate with food. She eyed Lorena over her glasses as Lorena snatched up a biscuit.
“You didn’t make Deacon his plate.” Hazel slapped potatoes on the heap. “You ought to make your man his plate first, before you go digging in. That’s what a good woman does.”
Lorena looked over at Deacon, who was shoveling food in his mouth. “He’s a big boy. I wouldn’t want to over-feed him.” She glanced at the plate in Hazel’s hands. Definitely for Clem—the man, not the dog.
“You can certainly feed him muffins, though.” Hazel turned and fluttered off, and called for her husband.
The old man came to her at once.
Lorena shook her head and started to turn away, but something on the table caught her eye. She froze, and her heart skipped a beat.
A little brown bottle, like an eyedropper bottle, sat between the bowl of biscuits and a platter of fried potatoes.
Hazel was on the other side of the tent, fussing over her husband as he took his heaped-up plate. Lorena snatched the bottle. She tucked it in the pocket of her jeans and walked back to her chair.
The boys got into a game of tackle football, Ray DJ’ed country tunes on his laptop, and a fire was built. They’d be partying long into the night.
Deacon eventually sought her out, his shirt off and burly chest heaving, smeared with dirt and glistening with sweat. She admired the view as he bent down to kiss her forehead.
“You seem to be having fun.” She smiled up at him. “That’s the roughhousing Lycan I know and love.”
He tweaked her nipple and her cheeks flashed hot. She slapped his hand away. “There’s kids.”
He grinned and took a swig from her bottle of beer. “They gotta learn someday.”
Suddenly, all the dogs started barking and Lorena jumped. They’d let them out and they’d been sprawled around the fire. They leapt up and darted toward the bottom of the yard, except Clem. He stood next to Lorena’s chair and whined.
“What the hell?” Deacon mopped his face with his hand and looked after them.
Lorena stood up.
“What’s going on?” Zeke hollered. “There a fox down there or something?”
“Probably.” Deacon sighed. “Or a coyote. Damn fools.”
Lorena squinted at the trees. The barking abruptly changed. A high, pained yelp went up, then fearful yowls. Lorena stiffened.
“Shit.” Deacon dropped the beer. “Daddy, get your shotgun!”
Stacy hurried over to the fire. “Kids, get in the house.”
Deacon took off toward the driveway. Lorena followed him. They ran to their truck and opened both doors. Lorena reached under the seat and pulled out her Browning. Deacon grabbed his shotgun off the rack in the back window.
When they returned to the yard, Ray and Zeke met them with their shotguns. Two of the dogs came racing back, tails tucked, yipping fearfully. They sped past them and dove under the deck.
“Shit.” Deacon huffed as the four of them marched down the yard. “So much for peace and quiet.”
As they approached the trees, a sense of dread swept through Lorena. A looming, dangerous darkness clouded her vision. She tensed.
“Wolvites,” she gasped. “I can feel it.” She raised her gun in both hands.
Beyond the dog pen was about fifty feet of tall grass, before the trees began. Though it was twilight, there was enough light to see the grisly scene spread out there.
The other three dogs had been brutally killed. They had ragged holes in their throats, blood splashed across the grass. One still writhed.
“Ah, hell,” Ray said miserably. “Shep.” He hurried toward the convulsing dog.
Lorena tried to push the horror out of her head and focus. The Wolvite—or Wolvites—that had done this were not gone. She aimed her gun into the trees. Something lurked and watched. Something that had every intention of tearing their throats out too.
“You bastards!” Deacon pointed his gun into the trees too. “Come out here and fight us.”
“Sons of bitches.” Zeke’s voice was tight. The other two dogs were his. “You cowardly bastards come out here and tangle with something more your size.”
Lorena swept her gun back and forth, and tried to control her witch powers so they wouldn’t distract her. The world around her brightened and her vision sharpened.
A shot rang out. Ray had put the mortally wounded dog out of its misery.
The second of distraction proved deadly. A dark shape sprang from the trees in front of Lorena and in an instant, huge powerful limbs locked around her. She didn’t have time to pull the trigger.
She screamed as she was lifted off her feet. Her gun flew from her hands. As she was spun around toward the trees, she caught a glimpse of other massive shapes. They were being ambushed.
“Lorena!” Deacon’s voice, before it was drowned out by the blast of shotguns and snarls.
The thing that had her squeezed so tight she could barely breathe. She struggled and kicked wildly, digging her nails into one of the hairy limbs locked around her middle. A huge, hot, reeking body pressed against her back.
“Let me go!”
The creature heaved and snarled, its snout pressed into her spine. Instead of biting her, it carried her into the darkness of the trees. At first, in blind terror, she assumed it was dragging her off to eat her, but it kept going. Deeper and deeper into the trees they went, until the blasts and shouting were muffled by dense foliage.
She screamed as loud as she could. “Deacon!”
The Wolvite continued to run, carrying her effortlessly. Where the hell was it taking her?