Croc's Return (13 page)

Outside the house, the hum of the window cooling units was louder, but despite that, Caleb could hear the comforting sound of crickets and other bayou noises. Nothing out of the ordinary approached, but still, it never hurt to be sure.

As Caleb set off to walk around the house, eyes on the ground watching for prints, Constantine launched into a recap of some of the weird shit plaguing Bitten Point.

“So about two years or so after you left, we had a rash of disappearances. No men, just a few women and children. All shifters.”

“Abductions or murders?”

His brother shrugged. “We never really did find out. A few of those who went missing turned back up with no memory of what had happened while others…” He trailed off.

“Never came back?”

“Nope. They vanished as if into thin air.”

Or as if swallowed by the bayou. The swamps knew how to keep a secret—and a body.

“How long did this go on for?”

“Not too long. Two-three weeks at most. But at the time it was happening, there was talk among some of the children that they’d seen a monster.”

“That looked like a dinosaur?” Caleb asked.

“Actually, no, the rumors I heard said it was a wolfman, all fur and big teeth and claws.”

“A Lycan, in the bayou?” An incredulous note entered Caleb’s voice.

“No, as in a wolfman that walked on two legs, which we know is impossible.”

“Not really.” Caleb’s discoveries outside the bayou shattered many long-held beliefs.

“What do you mean not really?”

“It means that some of the things we grew up thinking were absolute aren’t. Shifters can walk on two legs, or four, or even eight.” Shudder. That one still gave him nightmares. “While the ability to shapeshift into a hybrid form is rare, it does exist. I’ve seen it.”

For a moment, his brother simply blinked at him. “Well, hot damn. Can you do it?”

He couldn’t lie. “Yes, but I don’t recommend it.” The mix of man and croc at once made for a strange mental process, but it was better than leaving the croc in utter control.

“Don’t recommend it? But why?” His brother’s face lit up. “I could be snakeman!”

For a moment, the Goliath that was his brother reminded him of the little boy Caleb used to have following him around, hero worship in his eyes.

“Snakeman?” Caleb couldn’t help a teasing lilt. “Leaving a slimy trail everywhere he slithers.”

While Caleb took after their dead father and became a crocodile, Constantine, took after their mother, a python. Given his bulk now, Caleb had to wonder just how big his snake had gotten. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out.

“Snakes don’t leave gooey trails.” Constantine drew himself straight and adopted a haughty sneer. “Try more like crushing his enemy in his mighty grip.”

“Hugging is not a fighting technique.”

“Neither are nibbles, crockie.”

“I’ve been trained to fight.”

“I guess they threw in the asshole lessons for free.”

The rebuke was tossed without any real malice, making it even more effective. “Sorry.”

“Whatever. I think from now on, instead of saying sorry, we should start a jar. Twenty bucks every time you say it. I figure within a week, I’ll be able to afford a whole new set of tires for my truck.”

The fist slugged his brother’s arm before Caleb could think twice. It was a habit from his military days when he and the boys shot the shit. For a moment, he could only gape at his brother, wondering how Constantine would take it.

He grinned. “Didn’t hurt.”

At those familiar words, Caleb did laugh. How many times had they used that phrase growing up, trying to prove who was toughest?

As far as he recalled, Caleb had been in the lead from the time he got shot with buckshot in the ass and grinned—over gritted teeth—while Ma yanked the pellets out with tweezers.

As their laughter died down, Caleb heard a rustle to his left. He zeroed his gaze in, staring at the shadows bordering the yard, the dense foliage providing so many possible hiding spots.

If his years in the military had taught Caleb anything, it was to never underestimate the enemy. Where there was a will, there was a way, and he still had trouble even months after leaving the war overseas in looking at the world with a less than jaundiced eye.

What of the heavy boughs weighed down by lush leaves? Ambush could await the unwary in the treetops. Anyone or thing could lie under the mud and weeds, ready to rise. The enemy could be inside his own mind, waiting to burst free from its bodily prison and rampage.

Let me out. I can scout.

Indeed, his reptile half could, but would the cold creature stop at just that? And what really could his croc self do that the man couldn’t?

I know danger is lurking. It can be anywhere.

Knowing this, Caleb would stand on guard, as a man, to stop it.

Since nothing seemed to be disturbing the nightlife—the bayou sounds rolled over his skin—Caleb questioned his brother further about this supposed wolfman haunting the bayou years ago. “I take it they never caught the guy, or wolf, or whatever that was abducting folks?”

Constantine shook his head. “Nope. One day, a kid riding his bike got snatched, the next he was found sitting in the park, no idea how he got there. And that was the last time it happened. Until now.”

“So today marks the first incidents?”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean, maybe?” Caleb narrowed his gaze at his brother.

“We got a call into the station”—the fire station where Constantine worked as a firefighter—“that something might have taken up residence in the pond by the park. A bunch of kids claimed they saw something, and since we didn’t want any of them getting eaten in case a croc or gator did make its way there, we took a truck out and met up with some of the boys in blue. We dragged the pond and came up empty.”

“But?” Caleb prodded, fixing his brother with a stare.

“There was this smell. A weird one.”

“Kind of reptile like, but not quite, with a hint of something wrong,” Caleb said.

“I would have said more like alien, but yeah. And as for tracks, nothing that made sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean did you ever see something that walked with one human foot and one clawed and webbed one?”

No, Caleb hadn’t, which was why he slept on the couch that night with a gun under his pillow, one eye open, and an ear cocked to see if the pop-can trap he’d strung outside all the windows rattled.

But the best intentions didn’t keep the nightmares at bay.

The flames slithered closer, dancing bright devils eager to taste anything they could lick. Caleb tugged at his tethers. However, the rope bound him tight.

A prisoner waiting for punishment because he’d dared disobey.

Begging wasn’t an option.

Not only would he never stoop so low, there was no one left to hear his pleas.

And still the torrid fire burned closer.

Let me out.

His beast pulsed, demanding exit.

Again, he pulled at the thick twine crisscrossing his wrists. He’d managed to somewhat fray them against the rough stone surface of the wall, but not enough to snap himself free.

There is no choice. Let me out.

The heat pulsed against his skin, crisping his hairs, tightening pores already dry. He didn’t want to let the beast out. He could hear the screams of battle. Scent the blood…

Yummy.

The thought repulsed him. The thought made him hunger.

It wasn’t right. He shouldn’t revel in the wild nature of his croc. Shouldn’t crave the same things.

I am a man.

You are also a predator.

He was also on fire. The flames licked at his skin, attracted to the scraps of clothes he still wore, singeing the rope holding him prisoner. But he didn’t have time to wait for the flames to free him, not when his skin bubbled.

He screamed, not with pain, but out of frustration. How ironic that the reason he found himself tied was what would save him. He wouldn’t unleash his beast for the enemy, but he would have to in order to survive.

His croc snapped in glee.

The change came on fast and vicious, his skin hardening into scales, the shape of his face, his hands, his whole body contorting, reshaping, becoming…a crocodile.

Not a friendly one. Nor a small one.

Last time they measured him, he was over twelve feet from snout to tail. How he managed to expand to that size, he never could figure out. He did know that he and others of his kind took heavier than he looked to a whole new level.

Unleashing his beast didn’t stop the flames from kissing his skin. Flesh sizzled.

Smells good.

He would have gagged if he wasn’t just a passenger on the reptile train bent on escape—and destruction.

In a frenzy from being cooped away, in pain, and pissed when someone dared shoot at him, Caleb could do nothing to stop his vicious side from lunging at the guy with the gun.

The crunch of bone, the coppery taste of blood, the exultation, his personal horror that he enjoyed it.

No.

No!

Hands touched him. Soft hands. Along with a faint murmur.

“It’s all right, Caleb. It’s just a dream. Wake up.”

Renny! In a flash, his eyes opened, and he saw Renny leaning over him, too close, too tempting.

Let’s taste.

Since he didn’t know if it was man or beast talking, he barked, “Stay away from me.”

She recoiled, as if slapped. “Well, excuse me for waking you up.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t always react well when woken.” He’d punched bigger men than her for daring to lay a hand on him when resting.

“Good to know. Next time you have a nightmare, I’ll throw things at you from afar.”

Next time?

She seemed to realize her faux pas at the same time he did. He couldn’t help a smile. “Does this mean you’re sticking around?”

“I think that’s a better question to ask you,” she retorted.

It came to his notice it was pitch-black outside, and a quick peek over at the DVD player showed a neon-lit time of three twenty-three a.m. “Why are you up? Did you hear something?” He swung his legs so he sat on the couch.

Blonde hair flew as Renny shook her head. “I had to use the bathroom and, on the way back, heard you mumbling in your sleep. Do you have nightmares often?”

A lie would preserve his dignity. He went with the truth. “Every night unless I take the pills the doctor gave me.”

“You didn’t take them before bed?”

“Of course not. I can’t protect you if I’m passed out cold.”

“Oh, Caleb.” She breathed his name and took a step toward him, a moving shadow that didn’t rouse the panic. Another thing rose in its stead. “Are the nightmares from the fire?”

“Yes and no. The fire is almost always part of it.” Yet it was the chaos after, where he fought to escape, that plagued his dreams the most.

Renny seated herself gingerly on the couch beside him. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t help a rusty laugh. “You’re sorry? You are the person who needs to least apologize.”

“Then what do you want me to feel? Pity? I doubt you’d appreciate that.”

“There’s only one thing I want from you.”

Her eyes met his in the darkness, and he could read the longing in their gaze, but also the fear. “And that’s the one thing I don’t know if I can ever give.”

With those words, Renny fled. A good thing, too, else he might have taken his croc’s advice.

Claim her.
Because there was one thing becoming crystal clear. He needed Renny in his life. But if he moved too quickly, she might run. And he couldn’t lose her again.

Run. Run.

Renny’s chest heaved as she struggled for breath running through the bayou, the thick air cloying in her lungs. Mud squelched between her bare toes, the suctioning pull slowing her pace while rapier weeds whipped at her bared legs. Her nightgown ended mid-thigh and provided no protection.

Just like the moon taunted her, refusing to hide in shadow and help her blend into the darkness.

Splash
.

The sudden spray of water as her foot slammed into a puddle drew a short cry from her. Way to pinpoint her location even more. She paused for a moment, unable to hide her ragged pants for air.

Nothing marred the silence but her harsh breathing. Not a sound.

But she knew it was there. Hunting. Chasing. Hungering…

Frantically, Renny cast about looking for a spot to hide. Anywhere.

The swaying fronds and the glitter of water mocked her until she looked to her left. There, not so far from her, was a hill.

It wouldn’t hide her from the monster that wanted her, but the man sitting atop the knoll would protect her.

He cast his gaze down and caught hers. A vivid green flare flashed in his eyes.

Caleb.

Caleb was here. He would keep her safe.

Energized, she ran toward him, and he saw her coming. She knew he did. But the beast came as well.

Who would arrive first?

Arms outstretched, she reached for him, even as the fetid breath of the monster washed over her back.

“Caleb! Help me. Caleb.” She said his name on a plea.

Surely he heard her, and yet he turned away.

And the jaws of the beast—

With a choked cry, Renny sat upright in bed, her skin clammy, her heart racing—and remarkably uneaten.

Thank God. I’m alive.

But alone.

Oh no! Where was Luke?

Casting back the covers, Renny searched under them in case they hid Luke’s small body, but he wasn’t there, nor was he anywhere in the room.

Braless, but at least decently clothed in a T-shirt and her yoga pants—because she’d not had the energy to change into something else, not with all that happened—Renny felt no qualms about exiting the room to hunt down her son. She made it to the end of the hall before she halted.

Frozen, she barely dared breathe as she watched—and tried not to cry.

Still wearing his pajamas, Luke stood on the edge of the kitchen watching as Claire bustled around making a pot of coffee, softly humming.

“Are you my grandma?”

The scream Claire let out could have woken the dead. She whirled, one hand clutching her chest, her wide eyes staring at Luke, who tilted his head quizzically.