Greywolf

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  Renaissance

  www.renebooks.com

  Copyright ©2002 by Mary A. DeCarlo

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  GREYWOLF

  By

  Mary A. DeCarlo

  A Renaissance E Books publication

  ISBN 1-58873-093-X

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2002 by Mary A. DeCarlo

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

  publisher@renebooks.com

  A Sizzler Edition

  Acknowledgements

  I want to thank my readers at the Monmouth County General Mail Facility who hounded me for each chapter, forcing me to finish Greywolf. I dedicate this book to all of you.

  I also want to acknowledge Hank for his encouraging critique and support.

  And especially I express my appreciation to Stephen Alfred Dailey for Greywolf's fabulous cover. www.stephendailey.com

  Prologue

  He could still smell her. He could still feel the weight of her breasts on his palms, the taste of her on his tongue, and God help him, he was still rigid with desire. His shaft throbbed, protesting its enforced abstinence. He could barely restrain himself from returning and sating his lust in her willing body.

  Stopping his van next to his cabin, Michael flung himself into the yard. Lifting his head to the moon, he howled in frustration. Memories of Altheia in his arms, her breasts in his mouth and her hands desperately trying to reach his swollen shaft, were driving him mad. His hand quickly unzipped his jeans, releasing his aching organ. Tightening his hand around himself, he began to slowly squeeze and stroke. His breathing became uneven and strained as he imagined it was Altheia's fingers around him.

  His tongue licked at his dry lips. The taste of her burst through his mouth like a cherry cordial whose center had been breached. His hand moved quicker, swiftly stroking now. His head fell back and his eyes closed tight. The muscles in his legs trembled and a groan tore from his throat as spasms ripped through his groin. With another groan, Michael spewed his seed across the yard.

  Sinking to his knees, he hung his head in despair. Never before had a woman reduced him to self-gratification. And despite this, his cock was still rigid and demanding. He still wanted her with a desire akin to the bloodlust that consumed him every full moon. Moaning, he ripped off his clothes and dropped to his hands and knees. In seconds a large, grey wolf was racing through the forest.

  Ten minutes later he emerged near a small bungalow. The wolf circled the dwelling. Silently he ascended the steps to the porch and sat, staring at the door. After a while he retreated as silently as he had arrived until he reached a large, magnificent oak tree at the edge of the forest. After turning in a circle several times, he lay on the ground within view of the bungalow. With a sigh he rested his head on his paws and watched.

  Later, when the lights had gone out and the wolf knew she slept, he rose and went back to Michael's cabin. Standing in the yard, the wolf threw back his head and howled at the moon. When the sound faded away, the wolf dropped his head. His body began to tremble, gently at first and then violently. Suddenly the wolf's shape shifted so rapidly the eye could not register it. Seemingly in the blink of an eye, a man rested on his hands and knees where a wolf had just stood.

  Michael tiredly gathered his clothes and boots and walked naked to the cabin. Tomorrow, he resolved, he would go to Boston early. He'd sate these cravings with a couple of nights there. It had been a long time since he'd indulged in an unrestrained weekend of sexual gratification. Maybe that's all he needed. He'd denied himself too long.

  ONE

  A long, mournful howl pierced the night, echoing through the starlit darkness. When it faded, the she-wolf made her way down the mountain toward the small cabin that encroached on the edge of the forest.

  Michael was on his feet even before he was fully awake, all his senses alert as he tried to determine what had awakened him.

  After a minute he tore the thong from his hair, raking his fingers through the silver-grey strands that now brushed his shoulders.

  By God he was tired. He certainly didn't need to be jumping at every spark from the fire or wind-whipped branch scratching at a window. Maybe a hot shower and a cup of tea would put him back in the mood for bed. A half hour later he was relaxing before the fireplace sipping a cup of Ceylon tea.

  The firelight bathed his skin with a golden glow, giving it the color of a bronze statue. His body was magnificent. He wasn't a tall man, only about five feet ten inches, but with broad shoulders, thick with muscles, tapering to a trim waist and narrow hips. His chest was free of hair except for a narrow thatch of gold-streaked silver fur starting just above his naval. Flaring across his flat stomach and down his muscular legs, it framed his sleeping masculinity. His almost straight, thick, shoulder-length hair was a startling silver grey. It was not premature, but a natural color since birth. A highly unusual shade. His face was strongly chiseled, reflecting his Native American heritage and his wide-set eyes were a piercing cobalt blue.

  People meeting him for the first time were surprised to realize that Michael Greywolf was a young man of only 31. They were originally fooled by the extraordinary mane of silver hair.

  Michael set his cup on the table by the chair and decided that if he didn't get to bed now, he would probably fall asleep in the chair. And if he did, every muscle would be in knots by morning.

  Just as he stood up he heard a sound on the porch. Instantly alert, he grabbed his shotgun from beside the bed, and, going to the door, jerked it open, his eyes sweeping the darkness.

  A click of nails on the wood and a low whimper drew his gaze to the right ... to her. A grin split his face as he looked toward the she-wolf. She was flat on her stomach. When she got his attention, she whimpered deep in her throat and rolled over on her back in submission.

  Michael was no longer tired. After leaning the gun against the cabin, he dropped to his hands and knees. A deep growl rumbled from his throat. The she-wolf whimpered again and waved her feet in the air, her tail thumping slowly against the porch.

  Then Michael's body started to vibrate as if an electric current was running through him. His skin seemed to melt, and fur, rich and thick, the hue of silver streaked with gold, exploded to cover his body. His shape shifted quicker than the eye could follow.

  Suddenly, there was a large grey wolf with cobalt blue eyes standing over the she-wolf with its teeth at her throat. With a soft growl he released her and moved back. After staring for a moment, he turned and padded silently off the porch and into the yard. He paused and, looking back, gave a low whimper. The she-wolf sprang to her feet and looked toward him. He gave a slow wag of his tail and she bounded off the porch to follow him into the forest, both of them leaping and yelping in play.

  Later, two sets of joyous howls echoed through the darkness.

  * * * *

  Awareness came to Michael with the cold that tried to seep into his bones and the scratchy leaves under his right side, which was lying on the hard ground. However, his back was warm and felt like it was leaning against a fur pillow.

  Opening his eyes, Michael realized he was lying on the ground beneath a tree not far from his cabin. The she-wolf was still with him, pressed warmly against his back.

  And he was stark naked!

  He knew he always changed at dawn, but he sel
dom made it home on time. Someday, someone was going to catch him as bare as a new born babe. No wonder he didn't dare live in town. He could just imagine the reaction to finding a naked man sleeping in the town square at daybreak.

  Michael was a shape shifter ... and a werewolf.

  Sitting up, he ran his fingers through his hair to brush it out of his face. The she-wolf raised her head and gave a low growl, clearly upset at having her rest disturbed. “Sorry old girl,” he apologized while turning to ruffle her fur in affection, “but humans have to work for their dinner, and I'd better move it or I won't eat tonight.” He rose gracefully to his feet and trotted to his cabin.

  Forty-five minutes later he was driving down the dirt lane on his way to the garage he owned and operated in Jefferson, New Hampshire. Luckily, this was Joy Hawk's day to open, so it would be okay if he was a few minutes late.

  * * * *

  Michael was late getting home again. There seemed to be a rash of breakdowns in the last three weeks, probably due to all the wear and tear from the worst winter to hit the northeast in years. The resultant potholes in particular had taken their toll in front-end alignments and bent rims. And, of course, everyone wanted their car fixed first and done today. Not that he should complain. He could sure use the money. The tools that old man Johnson sold him with the garage needed to be replaced soon if he intended to do a good enough job to make a go of it here in New Hampshire.

  There were jobs he couldn't do without the proper equipment. Right now he had to send too much work over to Lancaster. With the right tools, he could increase his regular clientele.

  He'd moved back to New Hampshire last July, his mother having finally remarried after being widowed for 12 years. There was nothing keeping him tied to Canada now. John Running Deer would take good care of her and he knew he shouldn't feel guilty about leaving her. He missed her, but at thirty, it was time he made a life for himself. He couldn't obligate his mother to care and worry about him on a daily basis. Whenever he failed to come home because he'd changed, he'd find her waiting up for him.

  After his father had been killed, she kept worrying that next she may lose her only child. Besides, there was less temptation to spend his nights running through the wilderness here, since there were no wolves in New Hampshire, except himself, of course.

  As he was getting his groceries from the trunk, he noticed a movement to his left. Well, he had thought he was the only one as he saw Koani step out of the forest and pause a few yards away. “Good evening, Koani. Are you here to have dinner with me?” Koani came closer and rubbed affectionately against Michael's legs. As he went into the cabin, the she-wolf stopped at the door. He'd never been able to get her to enter a human dwelling. “Be right back, don't go away.” Ruffling the fur around her neck affectionately, he entered the cabin. He threw a steak on the grill and went to a small shed out back.

  The shed was small, holding a dozen hutches stacked against two walls. Right now he had ten rabbits and two were breeding. After making sure they had been fed and watered, Michael removed the largest one. As he turned to leave, he paused. Maybe it was the scent of the rabbit in his arms, or maybe it was that the full moon was less than a week away, but he felt the bloodlust rise in him. His fingers began to tighten around the rabbit. Sensing its imminent peril, the rabbit started to struggle, breaking the spiral of lust that threatened him. Suppressing his desire, he quickly left the shed.

  After turning his steak, Michael took the rabbit to the porch. Koani had retreated to the yard in his absence, but smelling the rabbit, she again approached the porch. While the human in him would have liked to give the rabbit a chance, the animal in him had no compunctions. With a sigh, he took the squirming mammal in his hands and quickly broke its back, then tossed it down to Koani. She grabbed it and retreated to the edge of the trees. Bringing a shrill cry from the rabbit, she finished the kill. The pungent smell of blood excited him, making him salivate. Clamping down on his desire, he turned and entered the cabin.

  He wondered why Koani had decided to make the trek here after he'd been gone a year. Communication between wolves was simple at best, and as near as he could figure, she'd missed him.

  After his father's death, he and his mother had moved to Canada to stay with her family. For two years he resisted changing except at a full moon, when he had no choice. Then one night, he was out, consumed with the bloodlust, when he came upon a young pup. Her mother killed in a bear trap, the pup was cold and starving. The desire to kill was roaring in his ears. But when the small pup began to nuzzle him, the human in him started to melt. Something in this small life flowed into that empty place in his heart that had tormented him for two years. He found himself catching a rabbit and returning to the pup and sharing. Though not fully weaned, she tried, licking at the blood. He picked her up by the scruff and set out to find her pack.

  He had avoided contact with the pack. In fact, he'd never met a natural wolf, only a werewolf. Certainly none like himself. With no desire to challenge the Alpha male, he'd stayed a loner. He wasn't even sure he could communicate with them. It turned out to be a revelation. While primitive, he understood and communicated with them easily. And though they never accepted him into the pack, they tolerated him. Somehow they knew he was different, and knew a challenge would be futile. They accepted the pup and cared for her. For the next ten years, Michael and the pup would be inseparable. He found himself changing almost daily. She was like the sibling he'd never had.

  But then he decided it was time to make a try at being human again. So he moved to New Hampshire, since there would be no wolves there to tempt him. He missed her, but now she was here, and he was glad, because her time was short. Her age was great for a wolf, but he would see that she was fed and protected.

  Michael hadn't liked being alone; he was always looking for someone or something. Now Koani was here with him, and he'd never been more content.

  TWO

  New Orleans, LA

  ERIC SAMUEL THOMPSON

  July 6, 1955 to March 30, 1994

  REST IN PEACE

  Altheia Jones stared at the plaque on her husband's crypt. They had just installed it this morning. She was glad they had delivered it today. She hadn't wanted to delay her departure any longer. The moving van had already picked up the things she couldn't carry with her in the car and was scheduled to arrive in Jefferson, New Hampshire in ten days. She figured it would take her about six days to drive, and she planned on a few days to clean, hang curtains and such before the moving van arrived.

  After her husband's accident, she had taken a two month leave of absence. She had six weeks left before she had to return to work, but she didn't want to spend it in New Orleans. After seven years, she was ready to move on. She hadn't made any real friends, and now that her husband was gone and her parents were dead, there was nothing to tie her anywhere.

  The last few years of her nine year marriage had been strained, what with her husband's compulsive gambling and increasingly jealous behavior. But when the police had come that morning to tell her that he had burned to death when his car hit a bridge abutment, she had been overcome with grief for the man she had married.

  After the funeral, she knew she had to get away. She needed some peace and quiet in her life. She needed to heal her psyche and determine what to do with the rest of her life. At 35, she had no family, no children, and no close friends—nobody to miss her when she was gone. What she needed was no stress, and time alone to decide on a new path for her life to take.

  Working as a window clerk for the Postal Service had turned out to be a big help. Not only was the pay more than adequate, but it was possible to trade jobs with another worker anywhere in the country. The job in New Hampshire was a godsend. The guy she was trading with said he'd had it with the cold and the snow. He was ecstatic about moving to warm and sunny New Orleans, where it rarely snowed, and when it did, it was only an inch or two that usually melted in a few hours. He'd even offered to rent her his house with an op
tion to buy. It was isolated, but had all the conveniences of civilization, including a satellite dish and a generator. She had a year to decide if she wanted to buy it. It was perfect.

  With a final goodbye to her husband's grave, she straightened her back and walked away from her past. Jasmine, her lilac-point Siamese, was secured in her carrier in the car, along with the rest of her belongings. She was ready to leave.

  The $65,000 left from the insurance after paying all the bills was deposited in the Postal Credit Union. She could access that almost anywhere in the US, and she had $5,000 in traveler's checks and her credit cards. She'd already booked the hotels on the way. She thought 300 miles a day would make a nice relaxing pace. She figured she and Jasmine should arrive around noon on Wednesday.

  * * * *

  It was late when Altheia arrived. An accident, south of Boston, delayed her for more than an hour and a half. Add to that rush hour traffic and slow going when she hit the White Mountain National Forest, and it was almost 8:30 p.m. when she finally reached Jefferson. It took another 20 minutes to find the dirt road that led to her bungalow. It was so dark out here. She'd have to put reflectors on the trees or she'd never find it without the light from the moon. Isolated was definitely an accurate description. The bungalow was three quarters of a mile from the main road and backed up against the National Forest, with no neighbors! The owner certainly hadn't mentioned that she'd need four-wheel drive to negotiate the dirt road in the snow. Thank God this winter was over. She'd decided to wait to unload the car in the morning.

  By the time she'd unpacked the car and settled in as well as possible without the rest of her things and fed Jasmine, it was mid-afternoon. She felt as if she was starving. With nothing to eat in the house besides cat food, it was time to go into town. She remembered seeing a small grocery on her way through town last night. She was also low on gas.