"Leo sold you for twelve thousand dollars," I said, as much to myself as to Mac. My voice might have been matter-of-fact, but only because Mac was right: it was unbelievable. Not that I thought he was lying. "He had one of his wolves attack you and your girlfriend and when you survived, he sold you to someone else as a newly turned werewolf."
"I think so," said Mac.
"You called your family this afternoon?" I asked. I smiled at his wary look. "I have pretty good hearing."
"My brother. His cell phone." He swallowed. "It's broken. No caller ID. I had to let them know I was alive. I guess the police think I killed Meg."
"You told him that you were after her killer," I said.
He gave an unhappy laugh. "Like I could find him."
He could. It was all a matter of learning to use his new senses, but I wasn't going to tell him that, not yet. If Mac did find his attacker, chances were Mac would die. A new werewolf just doesn't stand a chance against the older ones.
I patted his knee. "Don't worry. As soon as we get word to the right people-and Adam is the right people-Leo's a walking dead man. The Marrok won't allow an Alpha who is creating progeny and selling them for money."
"The Marrok?"
"Sorry," I said. "Like I told you, except for the occasional rogue, werewolves are organized into packs under an Alpha wolf."
It used to be that was as organized as werewolves got. But the only thing it takes to be Alpha is power, not intelligence or even common sense. In the Middle Ages, after the Black Plague, the werewolf population was almost wiped out along with real wolves because some of the Alphas were indiscreet. It was decided then that there would be a leader over all the werewolves.
"In the US, all the packs follow the Marrok, a title taken from the name of one of King Arthur's knights who was a werewolf. The Marrok and his pack have oversight of all the werewolves in North America."
"There are more of us?" he asked.
I nodded. "Maybe as many as two thousand in the US, five or six hundred in Canada, and about four hundred in Mexico."
"How do you know so much about werewolves?"
"I was raised by them." I waited for him to ask me why, but his attention had drifted toward the body. He inhaled deeply and gave an eager shudder.
"Do you know what they wanted with you?" I asked hurriedly.
"They told me they were looking for a cure. Kept putting things in my food-I could smell them, but I was hungry so I ate anyway. Sometimes they'd give me shots-and once when I wouldn't cooperate they used a dart gun."
"Outside, when you were talking to them, you said they had others like you?"
He nodded. "They kept me in a cage in a semitrailer. There were four cages in it. At first there were three of us, a girl around my age and a man. The girl was pretty much out of it-she just stared and rocked back and forth. The man couldn't speak any English. It sounded like Polish to me-but it could have been Russian or something. One of the times I was taking a trip on something they pumped in me, I woke up and I was alone."
"Drugs don't work on werewolves," I told him. "Your metabolism is too high."
"These did," he said.
I nodded. "I believe you. But they shouldn't have. You escaped?"
"I managed to change while they were trying to give me something else. I don't remember much about it other than running."
"Was the trailer here in the Tri-Cities?" I asked.
He nodded. "I couldn't find it again, though. I don't remember everything that happens when…" His voice trailed off.
"When you're the wolf." Memory came with experience and control, or so I'd been told.
A strange car approached the garage with the quiet purr common to expensive engines.
"What's wrong?" he asked, when I stood up.
"Don't you hear the car?"
He started to shake his head, but then paused. "I-yes. Yes, I do."
"There are advantages to being a werewolf," I said. "One of them is being able to hear and smell better than the average Joe." I stood up. "It's turning into the parking lot. I'm going to look out and see who it is."
"Maybe it's the guy you called. The Alpha."
I shook my head. "It's not his car."
CHAPTER 3
I slipped through the office and opened the outside door cautiously, but the smell of perfume and herbs hanging in the night air told me we were still all right.
A dark Cadillac was stretched across the pavement just beyond Stefan's bus. I pushed the door all the way open as the uniformed chauffeur tipped his hat to me, then opened the car's back door, revealing an elderly woman.
I stuck my head back in the office, and called, "It's all right, Mac. Just the cleanup crew."