Wolves of Haven : Lone

Eight Hours

Varg softly snarled under his breath as he paced the length of the living room and back again. Connell was called to the latest body just outside of Haven. Louvel was drinking wine, watching the smaller, blue haired wolf hop around and spin in circles, expending what was left of his lunar energy. Rafe was listening to the police scanner, trying to pick up any chatter that might help point them in a direction since the two in the cellar hadn't emerged even though the sun had been up for over an hour.

"Uncle, I am going to punt that blue-haired mutt to America if he doesn't sit down," Varg warned.

Ulrik growled at him then started jumping up and down even more, spinning in circles on his hind legs as if he were a trained bear at the circus simply to antagonize the sulking Viking.

Louvel chuckled. "He is merely trying to get you to play with him. You have been in an absolutely bitter mood since catching our guest's scent."

Varg growled under his breath. "If I would have known that silly girl was entertaining an heir of the Lykos, I would have ripped his throat out the moment I had the displeasure of catching his scent!" he said, his voice carrying rather well throughout the stone-walled manor. "You know the risk," he continued, his pacing resuming. "If the Alpha of the Lykos, if his father, discovers Akia and Eve, they will take her and try to use the lone female as a bitch for breeding. I'm sure he already knows!" he yelled the latter. "They are just waiting for her to let her guard down. How could she be so foolish as to sleep with the enemy?"

Ulrik looked to Louvel; he was confused.

"Nephew," Louvel said with a heavy sigh, "the Lykos are not the enemy. They are merely a very large pack with very deep and extensive roots, and are much respected in the werewolf community. They know of the wolves of Haven, and yet they do not press our presence being so close to their territory-"

"We were here first!" Varg interrupted, and Ulrik growled, his hackle rising. "Zip it, Pup."

Louvel patted the wolf's head, trying to calm him down. "We were first on the Island and in this remote territory, that is true, and the Lykos spread from the Central and Southern regions until they had ultimate control over the Northeast, but they could have easily taken our territory if they longed to do so."

"Arno Manikas of the Lykos is a patient wolf, one that doesn't fear anyone or anything, especially a small pack like ours," Varg argued. "And now an heir is under our roof, and we're to simply entertain the bastard as if we are beneath him?"

Rafe chuckled, joining them, and tossed the notes he'd taken from the police scanner to Louvel to look at. "The only one under him is little sister," he pointed out. "That's what your major malfunction is, Brother. He seems nice, dotes on her and...there is something in the way he looks at her that tells me he isn't a threat."

"Sizing her up for auction, you mean," Varg snarled.

"Oh yes, because everyone wants a psycho bitch and a police officer that knows thirty ways to kill a man without a weapon," he retorted, rolling his eyes. "Speaking of, how's the arm? You're lucky it was only a flesh wound."

Again, Varg snarled; he was still in disbelief that Akia shot him. He had pictured, in his head, them reuniting in a different means, one that had less clothing involved and passion to the likes of nothing he has experienced with any other female before. The taste of her, the warmth of her body, and the scent of her skin still haunted his dreams, leaving him painfully aroused in the morning without an offer of release. The few women he had entertained for a passing moment, mainly in an attempt to sate his sexual urges to prevent his wolf from doing it, could never satisfy that primal need.