Bad Seed: An Imp World Novel (Northern Wolves Book 4) Page 6

  “I…I…I don’t know.” I didn’t know. And my beast was no help. She was reeling, completely knocked off kilter by everything that had happened in the last few hours.

  “Maybe you’d like to fight in animal form, instead?”

  I wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Wait, was he a wolf in animal form? Or something else?

  “You mean fight as wolves?” I asked, careful not to betray my anxiety over what his answer might be. I was never certain what form my beast would take—something that was frequently the nail in the coffin with my other packs. He was some sort of souped-up Nephilim, so he most likely had more than one form. Although he probably had control over his, where mine might end up a wyvern, or a gryphon, or a cat-dog for all I knew.

  “Wolves, big cats, hawks.” He shrugged. “You choose.”

  I couldn’t. That was part of the problem. “Let’s fight as humans.” That way at least I’d have a modicum of control over my beast. If I let her off the leash, there’s no telling what would happen. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to kill Jake—and that was a first—but I could piss him off enough that he decided to take my head off.

  “Human. Bare fist, then.” Jake ushered me out of the weapons room, turned off the light and closed the door. We stood in the middle of the room, neither one of us saying anything, neither one of us dancing around or shadow boxing, or anything that might indicate we were preparing to spar.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Jake told me.

  He was still just standing there, as if we were in the middle of having a casual conversation about the weather or the local sports team. I felt this strange sense of indecision. I knew he was waiting for me to make the first move, to go on the attack, but right now the human part of me was in charge—the rational part of me that screamed it was suicide to hit my Alpha. So instead I reached inside to the beast, the monster that rode me, that frequently ruled me. She was always ready to fight. She wouldn’t hesitate to attack Jake, no matter how dominant and scary he was.

  And for the first time in my life, the beast was unwilling. She was confused, and curious. Instead of an angry, brawling, kill-or-be-killed monster, I had this. Great.

  I opened my mouth to tell Jake to forget it, and he hit me. The blow came out of nowhere. I swear I hardly saw him move at all, although in my defense I hadn’t really been paying attention. One minute we were both standing in front of each other, relaxed and casual, the next his fist was connecting with my jaw, knocking my head aside and sending me staggering.

  It was cliché, but I saw stars. It hurt like a motherfucker. Several teeth were loose, my neck ached, and the lower left half of my face felt like it had been bashed clear into Canada. Within the second it took my vision to clear, everything was healed. Which was a good thing, since the next punch took me right in the stomach. I doubled over, then I flew back as his knee slammed up into my face.

  And now I was on my back, wheezing blood and snot on the mats. Stupid beast. She’d gotten me kicked out of every pack I’d ever been in. She’d nearly gotten me killed more times than I could count. And when I needed her, she was sitting back on her haunches blinking at the events as though she were fucking Bambi or something.

  Jake waited for me to get up, resuming his we’re-just-conversing-casually-about-the-weather stance. I stood and tried to rush him, not because I really wanted to but because my pride was begging me to do something. He side-stepped, pushing me down and under his arm, and using my momentum to flip me over. I slammed on my back hard enough to knock the air from my lungs and blinked up at him.

  My eyes met his, and that’s when I saw his beast. I saw whatever it was inside of him, that cold, emotionless, unbending dictator who refused to allow any transgression to go unpunished. I saw him. And so did my beast.

  And he saw me. There was that odd moment of electricity again, that strange sensation of touching, although this time it felt as though he were the one reaching out to me. It felt like every nerve ending in my body came alive. And that’s when my beast finally decided to get with the program and wake the fuck up.

  She leapt to the surface, and there was an instant of awareness between us, an acknowledgement of who we really were. Then I swung my legs to the side, hooked an ankle around his, and pulled. He didn’t fall, but I yanked him enough off balance to give me time to leap to my feet and land a hard kick to his left knee.

  I heard bone snap, but instead of dropping to the floor, he spun and was ready for my second kick, grabbing my leg and pushing into me. I went down, Jake on top of me, and felt my knee dislocate as he twisted my leg to the side.

  “Fucker! Not fair,” I shouted as he got to his feet. The bastard’s leg had already healed, while I had the joy of trying to get mine back into the socket.

  “Absolutely fair,” he replied coolly. “Here, let me help.”

  He knelt down and grabbed my leg at the ankle and knee, pulling it out and twisting it into place while I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming. As soon as he was done, I rewarded him by kicking him in the face. I put everything into it and was gratified to see his head rock backward, the force of the blow knocking him to the floor.

  Jake might have waited for me to rise before attacking, but I wasn’t shy about hitting a man while he was down. I jumped on top of him, straddling his legs and trying for a choke hold—trying and failing. He did a move straight out of MMA 101, and freed his arms, slamming mine downward and twisting a leg to hook around my neck, flipping me over. And instead of lying on top of me, he was basically sitting on me, his body weight concentrated on my upper body while my legs flailed helplessly trying to get purchase. I snarled and he leaned into his position, the arm across my neck mirroring the choke hold I’d just been trying to achieve.

  I should have tapped out. He had me, and both my beast and I knew it, but there was some perverse part of me that wondered whether he’d push me to unconsciousness, or do the chivalrous thing and let me up even without my signaling a yield.

  The pressure increased. There was a buzzing in my ears that should have given me my answer, but I kept fighting, digging my nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood. The buzzing got louder, and my vision was starting to swim, but I refused to yield. I wasn’t scared. I knew deep down that he wouldn’t kill me, otherwise my beast would have taken on a more lethal form and been digging claws into him rather than human finger nails. Finally, as everything began to grow dim, I felt my beast do something she’d never done—yield.

  I wasn’t able to say the word, but I pulled my nails from Jake’s arm and placed it palm on the floor. He loosened his grip a fraction, enough to allow me to gulp some much needed air into my lungs.

  Alpha, my beast whispered. She wasn’t cowed, she was awed. She was filled with respect for this man two millimeters from choking me into unconsciousness. She was also filled with desire and a strange feeling of connection.

  The obvious desire was kind of embarrassing. Yeah, I’d had my share of crazy sexual encounters that both my beast and I had enjoyed, but she’d never wanted anyone like this. The human me wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Jake was damned hot, but he kind of scared the human me, which was probably why my beast was ready to bump uglies. Well, the beast would just have to take “no” for an answer on that one, because screwing my new Alpha was so not a good idea. Even if he were remotely interested.

  I saw a moment of surprise cross Jake’s face, before his usual impassive calm expression returned. He carefully eased off me, giving me a second to heal and catch my breath before extending a hand to help me up. Any other time I would have taken that hand and thrown him to the floor, but the beast was surprisingly meek and I wasn’t about to push it, so I let him help me up.

  “Thanks,” I said, because I wasn’t sure what else to say. What did one say to one’s Alpha who had just beaten the snot out of you?

  “Welcome.” He nodded abruptly. “We’ll do the same tomorrow evening at eight. Meet me down here in the gymnasium.”


  Okaaaay. There was a clear, curt dismissal in his tone. Was he angry with me? He’d been the one who’d suggested this. Why was he pissed all of a sudden?

  “Yes, sir.” I turned my nod into a short bow, my eyes downcast as I headed for the stairs.

  “Mills?”

  I turned at my name, noticing he’d stopped calling me Tupper. “Yes, sir?”

  “You’re covered in blood. Make sure you clean up before heading to your dorm room, unless you’re prepared to answer questions.”

  No, I most certainly didn’t want to explain why I was covered with blood to my young roommate. “Will do, sir.”

  Tired, bemused, and oddly content, I climbed the stairs, and headed out of the Alpha House to cross the compound to my home. My home. Yes. For the first time ever, I finally felt like I’d come home.

  Chapter 7

  I woke up before dawn, disoriented and confused by the noise around me as well as the scents of others. It took me a few seconds to realize that I was in Alaska, in a dorm room, and that the sounds and smells were of my five roommates, all up and about while I was still sprawled across my mattress drooling on my pillow.

  “Time to wake up. Pack drills start in ten.” Even Mir’s whisper sounded cheerful.

  “Fuck this,” I muttered into my pillow. Then I dragged myself out of the bed and eyed the meager selection of clothing in my trunk. I was assuming I’d need to do calisthenics, so those skinny jeans and my favorite tank top were a no. The others were in yoga pants and T-shirts and I made a mental note to stop by the pack store later and pick some up. I didn’t think I’d ever worn yoga pants in my life, but if this was a regular occurrence, I might as well dress appropriately. No sense in trying to do burpees in skinny jeans.

  I was yanking on a pair of cargo pants and wondering if my bra was up to the task of daily exercises when I smelled it—coffee.

  The two roommates that I hadn’t met yet were holding cups and pouring the elixir from a small French press they’d set up on one of the trunks. They’d both been in bed asleep by the time I’d gotten back last night. I wondered how rude it would be to ask for coffee before we were even introduced?

  “Hey, do you guys have any extra?” I asked. Screw courtesy, it was some ungodly hour of the morning. I was about to do jumping jacks and push-ups without a sports bra. I needed coffee.

  The one holding the French press gave me a once over. She had reddish-blond hair and a long, narrow face with an equally long narrow nose. Even her eyes were narrow, but I think that was more from disapproval than any natural shape.

  “No.” Fox Face turned to pour the coffee into her friend’s mug. I noticed she wasn’t sharing with Muffin Top, Muscles, or Mir, so I shouldn’t have felt that her rudeness was directed specifically at me. Still, my beast bristled, urging me to punch her in the face and steal her cup. Or her friend’s cup. The other woman was someone I’d describe as more fluffy than curvy. It was kind of hard to tell if she was overweight or if her enormous boobs just made her seem that way.

  “We’ll grab some at breakfast after the drills,” Mir told me, shooting a worried glance at Fox Face. “I never eat or drink anything before exercising, not after that time I puked while sprinting the mile.”

  I barely heard her. My beast had been busy taking everything in yesterday and more interested in getting a feel for our new surroundings than asserting her dominance. It seemed the acclimation period was over because she was itching for a fight, scratching at my skin to get out. Jake was wrong. Sparring with him last night hadn’t helped at all. My beast wasn’t satisfied. She wanted me to put this woman in her place and do it with claws and teeth.

  The pot was empty, and both women were chatting as they sipped their coffee with exaggerated motions. It was like they were asking me to beat the crap out of them, inviting me to swing the first blow.

  “If you guys are done, maybe I can just re-use your grounds?” I asked, trying to find a compromise. It would be weak coffee and lukewarm since I didn’t have time to heat the tap water.

  “No,” Fox Face repeated.

  “Don’t be a jerk, Stace. You’re just going to toss it anyway,” Muscles told her.

  “It’s our coffee pot and grounds,” Boobs sniffed. “She wants coffee, she can get her own.”

  “She just got here yesterday. It’s not like she’s had time to buy a coffee maker.” Mir was antagonistic, standing up for me. I thought it was a bit embarrassing, but my beast was oddly proud.

  It’s not like I had the money to buy one right now. I was sure the pack would provide me with yoga pants no charge, but I doubted membership came with a French press and a bag of dark roast.

  “No,” Fox Face said once more. Before I could make fun of her for her monosyllable responses to everything, she picked up the French press and dumped the grounds into the garbage.

  My fists curled. My beast snarled. Everyone in the room looked over at me—Mir and Muffin Top with alarm, Muscles with a resigned sigh, and both Fox Face and Boobs with defiance. I struggled to keep my beast inside, only succeeding because a sharp whistle from downstairs broke my attention.

  “We gotta go.” Mir grabbed my arm and tugged. “You don’t want to be late to drills.”

  I followed her out, wondering if being late to drills had been what had resulted in Mir vomiting while doing sprints?

  There weren’t sixty wolves in attendance this morning, but most of the pack was out in the grassy section in front of the Alpha House, lined up in neat rows and columns. I fell in between Mir and Muscles, squinting to see the lake in the dim morning light. Why wasn’t everyone here? I thought this thing was mandatory. We were werewolves, so it wasn’t like people could call out sick or something. Were the missing pack members ones who needed to work away from the compound for days on end? The ones who cooked in the cafeteria? Or did they just get special waivers. I needed one of these special waivers. I needed a lot of these special waivers, because it was far too early in the morning to be doing a workout.

  Jake clearly missed out on the special waivers because he was up front, barking out orders for us to do an insane amount of sit-ups, push-ups, and burpees. Then we all sprinted around the compound, stopping at designated areas to throw logs and cement blocks back and forth at each other, do dips from benches, and kick holes in a brick wall that looked like it had recently been repaired. At the end of it all, the sun had come up and the sweet smell of eggs and bacon was permeating the air. I was sweaty, ready to go back to bed, and wishing that some other pack had volunteered to take me in.

  On my way to the dining hall it hit me—no one had taken attendance at this thing. There had to have been forty wolves all clustered together doing exercises and running around. I knew there was supposed to be a dorm leader, or super, or something, but there hadn’t been anyone checking up to see if we were all present and accounted for. If I ditched morning drills, would anyone notice? Maybe not every day, but every other day? I could probably count on Mir, and possibly Muscles to cover for me, but I’d need to watch out for Fox Face and Boobs. They’d tattle if they thought I slept in.

  Dead wolves don’t tattle, my beast reminded me.

  I grabbed a plate of scrambled eggs, a few pounds of bacon and French toast that had been coated with cornflakes, then tried to decide whether I should head back to the dorm and shower or go straight to my job. Given that I was going to be handling garbage all day, it was probably wise to save the clean-up for later. If I hustled, I might have time for a shower in between lunch and my meeting with Jake. Eating as quickly as I could, I wished Mir a good day, then headed out to my new job.

  A werewolf who introduced himself as Stanley met me by the incinerator. Operating instructions were straightforward, and just in case I forgot, there was a laminated safety sheet next to the huge metal chute where the trash went.

  “Trash collection is twice a week,” Stanley repeated. “Recycle twice a week. The dumpsters here are for emergencies, like if there’s something wrong with the inc
inerator, or you’re out of town on vacation and no one is covering for you. We burn the trash as soon as we collect it, but if we can’t for some reason or another, it needs to go in these dumpsters with the lids, otherwise bears will get into it and make a mess. Jake doesn’t like a mess. One thing you’ll learn fast is that he’s an Alpha that’s strict about rules, policy, procedures, safety protocols, and he likes the compound neat and clean. Everything in its place.”

  I wasn’t particularly clean or neat, and “in its place” tended to be wherever I dropped something last. I could completely see the need for such rules when there was a group of werewolves living in close contact like this, but I had a tendency to wing it on most things. One more item on my “I’ll eventually screw this up” list.

  Stanley showed me the four wheeler with the trailer, and told me the best way to go about collecting the garbage. Then he wished me luck and gave me his cell phone number on a sticky note in case of questions. I pocketed it, not bothering to tell him that I didn’t have a phone. If I had questions, I’d just figure it out myself. It was trash collection. How difficult could it be?

  Within the first hour, I realized that I loved my new job. I swear some people had put bricks in their trash bags, because a few of them were heavy as fuck. And a few of them broke when I went to pull them out of the containers, which meant I had to scoop trash off the pavement and somehow manage to keep it from blowing out of the little trailer. I’d made four trips, stuffing my bags into the incinerator chute before I remembered that I still needed to collect from the dining hall before I fired this thing up.

  Jamie had advised me the cafeteria would take several trips and I saw why once I got there. Instead of the metal cans with latch lids, or the bear-proof locked trash areas, the cafeteria had big metal dumpsters. I didn’t have any big equipment to dump them or haul them off, so I had to flip the lids open and climb inside, tossing trash bags into my trailer. It took me four trips, and when I was done, I was sweaty and stinky with pleasantly sore muscles. Anyone else would have hated the thought of digging through dumpsters and hauling smelly refuse around, but the dirt and stink made me strangely happy. Maybe I had been Oscar from Sesame Street in a former life, because this seemed a pretty weird thing for me to enjoy. One more oddity to chalk up to my freaky genetics.