Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“You’re not even trying?”
“No, sir. We’re not funded to try to cure the condition. We’re funded to try to bring it under our control, to find new mates from the human dating pool. A lot of the packs are starting to genetically dwindle, and more often than not, babies born from female shifters who have liaisons with human men turn out to not have the curse at all. Our kind is on the brink of extinction.”
“But giving human women some kind of treatment that simulates our condition doesn’t make them werewolves, does it? Not genetically?”
“Genetics are not the only determination of reality,” he says.
Seems like a deeper argument than I want to get into right now. In this moment, all I want to do is hold Calista again, and punching a hole through this man’s head, though I very much want to do it, would not solve the problem.
“Can I see the footage, please?”
He nods and leads me to the security room, where there is more blood on the floor. The absolute carnage of the place puts me in mind of the act of a completely wild animal. I can see it in my mind’s eye, a she-wolf taking vengeance on those who wronged her with fury and fang.
“You are sure she didn’t shift?” I ask again, though I remember the answer.
“No.”
“Christ.”
“Was unavailable at the time, far as we can tell,” the scientist deadpans.
Damn it. I’m starting to like him in spite of myself.
He brings up the relevant footage of her leaving with a few swift, efficient keystrokes.
I watch the security footage. Calista strides into the parking lot with a key fob in her hand and hits the unlock button until she sees the car that responds with blinking lights. She goes straight to it, gets in, and drives away. She doesn’t look agitated at all. She could just be coming out of a business meeting, though she is dressed in corduroy pants and an oversized funny sweater that I don’t think she would ever wear.
Now I have a license plate number, and as luck would have it, the infrastructure is available to follow the car via satellite, which is driven to Bell Breaux, a small town. That’s where the car remains to this moment.
I follow in my mate’s tracks, knowing that I am not the only person looking for her. They did not wait for me to get here to start searching. The alpha of New Orleans was nice enough to let me know she’d gone feral and escaped the lab, but teams are already on her tail, and if they find her first I can only imagine what will happen.
I go to the diner, where a single waitress is tending to what I suppose passes for the evening rush. She seems nice and motherly, well-built and clad in a floral dress with a pink apron frilled with white. She is delivering a plate of onion rings as I step through the door and smile.
She stops and smiles back, because she’s polite, and because I am fortunate enough in the facial features department that women generally take a little time to look at me.
“Hi,” I say, walking over to the counter, where there’s some bar seating for the overflow.
She comes over a moment later, and asks me what I’d like to eat.
I order a po’ boy, and enjoy it when it comes. I could have walked in, asked if she’d seen Callie, and left if she said no, but I want to get a sense of the one place I know Callie definitely came to. I can imagine she is close. The car is still in the parking lot, and satellite surveillance didn’t catch her leaving. It’s an imperfect tech that way.
The fried shrimp sammich comes on a crispy yet soft roll drenched with the best damn sauce I’ve ever had. I force myself to enjoy it, even though I am in hot pursuit of my mate.
Sometimes, slower is faster.
And everybody needs lunch.
“Everything good, sir?” The waitress checks in with me.
“Brilliant, thanks,” I say. “I was wondering, have you seen anybody come through here in the last few hours? I’m looking for a young lady who’s gotten herself into some trouble. She’s pretty, blonde. Might be covered in blood.”
“There was a young woman,” the waitress says. “There was something strange about her. She had what I’m thinking might have been blood on her clothes. She ordered a raw steak, got some gas from the gas station, and left town headed east.”
I know the woman paid attention to Callie, because Callie was making her prey instincts tingle. An animal knows when it is at risk of being eaten.
“Thank you,” I say. “Was she any trouble in any other way?”
“She was no trouble at all. Very polite. Very hungry.”
Callie
Horns blare as I send the fastest car in the world down the highway. It’s a pretty standard sedan, but stolen cars go much faster than ones you own. That’s a scientific fact. The speed is soothing, in a strange way. The near misses with other vehicles feel like a balm to my soul.