TWISTED MATES

Episode 14

His eyes stared back at him. He curled his lips back and snarled at himself. White fangs flashed in the metal

He was a wolf, a 130-pound wolf with pale blond fur or, safe to say, white fur because they were the pure breed. The only part of him that remained were his eyes, sparking with a cold intelligence and a simmering ferocity that could never be mistaken for anything but human. But now, they were more advanced than humans because they were sharper and could see through anything.

He looked around, inhaling the scents of the city again. He was nervous there. Feeling threatened and exposed. It was too close to where anyone could see a lost animal and raise an alarm because it reeked of humans. He must be careful to find out whatever triggered his wolf apart from his healing process. If he was seen, he would be mistaken for a dog, a large mixed breed. A dog that size wouldn't be seen as cute at all. It was a threat.

He headed for the back of the laneway and sought a path through the hidden part of the city.

His brain was dulled, disoriented not by his change of form but by the unnaturalness of his surroundings. The environment was confusing to Dante, and he felt the presence of something. A threat, a warning, chaos about to break out. Whatever it was, he had no idea yet.

He couldn't get his tracks right. The first alley he went down to turned out to be the first one that had a family while he was in his human form. A child was awake now. He was tugging the remnants of a filth-encrusted blanket between his fingers as if he could stretch it large enough to cover himself against the cold and lonely night.

The boy looked up and saw him. His eyes widened. He started to shrink back while shaking the sleeping mom. When she didn't wake up, he stopped himself and started saying something. His voice was small and croaked. His voice was crooning, exaggerating to calm Dante.

Dante lacked the patience to pay attention to what he was saying. There was no point. If he had concentrated, he could have heard the words and felt his heartbeat. He already knew what he was saying, what they always say in situations like that, some variation of "nice doggy," repeated over and over in a variety of inflections.

The boy's hands were outstretched, palms out to ward the wolf off, the physical language contradicting the vocal. Stay back-nice doggy-stay back. And people wondered why animals attacked them.

Dante could smell his fear and weakness rising from his body. If he was hungry, he'd smell like dinner. Fortunately, he wasn't hungry yet, so he didn't have to deal with the temptation, the conflict, the revulsion. Also, Dante had trained himself to be in control of both his wolf and human state. His wolf was an extension of him, which was working to gain his own identity. It was yet to be named and defined. That is why he needed to bond with his mate. If not, his wolf would experience confusion from time to time, just like now.

He snorted, condensation trumpeting from his nostrils, then turned and loped back up the alley.

Ahead was a Chinese restaurant. The smell of food was embedded in the very wood frame of the building. On a rear addition, an exhaust fan turned slowly, clicking with each revolution as one blade caught the metal screen casing. Below the fan, a window was open. Pale dove-blue curtains billowed out in the night breeze.

He could hear people inside, a room full of people, grunting and whistling in sleep. He wanted to see them. He wanted to stick his muzzle in the open window and look inside. A werewolf could have a lot of fun with a roomful of unprotected people. He wasn't used to that much. He wanted the experience.

He started to creep forward, but a sudden crackle and hiss stopped him. The hiss softened, then was drowned out by a man's voice, sharp, his words snapped off without emotions. The threat he had been feeling all night was close. He felt that danger in every bone in his body.

He turned his head each way, radar searching for the source. He was farther down the street.

Dante abandoned the restaurant and went to him. He had to face his fears. It might be nothing or end up being something. Whichever one, he had to put an end to the unsettled feeling in other to function properly.

Whenever Dante was in his wolf form, he was able to pick up threats, fear, anger, happiness, love and different emotions immediately. He could see, hear and feel the slightest change in atmosphere. All his senses were sharp, and he didn't neglect any tingling change in his body language.

He was standing among the shadows of a three-car parking lot wedged at the end of a narrow passage between buildings. He held a burner phone to his ear and leaned one elbow against a brick wall, casual but not resting. His shoulders were relaxed. His gaze went nowhere. He was confident in his place, that he had a right to be there and little to fear from the night. There was something else different about him. He had a mixed smell of an animal and man, plus the gun dangling from his belt. Was he a shifter? A man who might have been to where animals were? The scent was strong.

He stopped talking, jabbed a button, and slammed the phone into its holster. His eyes scanned the parking lot once, taking inventory and seeing nothing requiring his attention. Then he headed deeper into the alley maze.

Dante felt the urge to follow him. He seemed interested and guilty about something, so he followed.

His nails clicked against the pavement. He didn't notice.

Dante picked up speed, darting around trash bags and empty boxes. Finally, he was close enough.

He heard the steady clicking behind him and stopped.

Dante ducked behind a Dumpster and peered around the corner.

He turned and squinted into the darkness. After a second, he started forward.

Dante let him get a few steps away, then resumed the pursuit. This time, when he stopped, he waited one extra second before diving for cover.

He let out a muffled oath. He had seen something-a flash of motion, a shadow flickering, something. His right hand slipped to his gun, caressing the metal, then pulling back, as if the reassurance was enough. He hesitated, then looked up and down the alley, realizing he was alone and uncertain what to do about it. He muttered something, then continued walking, quicker this time.

As he walked, his eyes flicked from side to side, wariness treading the border of alarm.

Dante inhaled deeply, picking up only wisps of fear, enough to make his heart pound, but not enough to send his brain spinning out of control. He was striding confidently. Something was off about this man. Really off. He was a safe quarry for a stalking game. He wouldn't run.

Dante couldn't stop himself. He wanted to get to the end of this. His wolf kept telling him to move back, that it was a death trap. This man was just baiting. Yet, he wanted to continue, suppressing all his instincts. He could stalk him without killing him. Or exposing himself to the man in question. Yet if he did something to tip off Dante's suspicion, he wouldn't be able to stop himself. That was a temptation he couldn't fight. If he did so, Dante would chase. If he chased, either he killed him or, the man would kill him.

As he turned the corner down a connecting alley, he relaxed. All had been

silent behind him.

Dante crept from his hiding place, shifting his weight to the back of his foot pads to muffle the sound of his nails. Soon he was only a few feet behind him.

He could now make out the man's scent in full. He had been to a packhouse, or he was a wolf with a higher side of humans because his scent masked his wolf side.

Dante could see his white socks appearing and disappearing between his shoes and pant legs. He could hear his breathing, the slight elevation in tempo betraying the fact that he was walking faster than usual.

Dante eased forward, coming close enough that he could lunge if he wanted to and knock him

to the ground before he even thought to reach for his gun. His head jerked up.

He knew Dante was there. He knew something was there.

Dante wondered if he would turn. Does he dare to look, to face something he couldn't see or hear, but could only sense?

For some reason, in the face of danger, a smirk appeared on his face and his hand slid to his gun, but he didn't turn. He walked faster. Then he swung back to the safety of the street.

Dante kept following him to the end and observed from the darkness. He strode forward, keys in hand, to a parked car, unlocked it, and got inside. The car roared and squealed from the curb. Dante watched the receding taillights and sighed. At least it was nothing.

That was devastating, but, it wasn't nearly comforting that his wolf had wrongly flagged him from an unharmful presence as danger.

Just as Dante was about to release the unspent energy built up in his heart and legs, he heard a deadly snarl. Turning back, it was a dark wolf.

Sighting the wolf, Dante took a few steps back, bracing himself for the threat before him.

"Dante, Ian," the dark wolf called out bitterly. "Today, I must end your reign. Your weakness is despicable."

His instinct had been right after all. It was a deadly trap that he had just walked into. But who could have sold him out to the Dark pack like that? No one knew about his whereabouts except a few men in his pack. Who could have betrayed him?