Breeds Read Online Free Page B

out of Amherst Cove.
    Behind him, Sally’s high-pitched vocal chords speared the air once again.
     
     
    From her window, Sally Walsh leaned back and pulled the kitchen window closed. She huffed, smirked, and rested both hands on her sizeable hips, keeping watch over Sammy as he made his way to his parked car. At sixty-four, she had remarkable hearing and picked up the conversation of the two men. Snow tits. She scoffed. Men . Talk to them all you want, but the moment you mention tits and suddenly, magically , you had the floor. It was Sally’s firm belief that the surest way to get a man to do something was to hang a pair of boobs on it. If she could put a set of knockers on the radiator in the house, she’d have to pry both Sammy and Shea off the goddamn metal.
    Sammy turned around and waved to her with both hand and shovel, pulling an unwilling smile out of her. Like kids they were, and like kids, life would be questionable without them, if not downright miserable. She maneuvered around the kitchen, the air redolent of freshly baked bread, the buttery loaves laid out over the table. She stopped in front of the one mirror hanging beside the fridge and inspected the graying roots of her brown hair. Her one vanity was her mane. Always had been. The brewing weather wasn’t fierce enough to keep her away from her appointment, and she wanted to get it done before anything worse came down the pipe. The weatherman preached on about a blizzard two days away. A monster of a storm crept up the eastern coast after socking it to parts of the states and pummeling Nova Scotia, and was on a collision course with the island. The next few days might see Amherst Cove cut off because of the snowfall, and yet, the thought of not getting her hair done today terrified her more.
    She could do it. Winter storms didn’t bother her. She liked the way the wind blustered off the ice pads of the bay and leaned into the house. The howls and the creaks of timbers lulled her to sleep without fail, and sometimes, if there was a gust on and Sammy was either upstairs or not immediately around, she’d turn off the television or put down the book and just listen to the fury outside, breaking upon the corners of the house, while she remained safe and warm inside her timberframe pocket of memories and dreams.
    Winter storms didn’t bother her in the least.
    But graying hair absolutely poisoned her.

4
    It took some effort to wrench the Bowie knife free of the skull. Once Borland had the weapon out, he held it before his full black eyes and sniffed. Pure silver. Just holding the lethal blade in such close proximity to his face made his jaws ache as if lit up by a tuning fork. Borland held the knife at arm’s length and snapped his fangs, not bothering to withdraw them and perversely enjoying how they extended over his human jowls. Going half shape instead of a full-on transformation took many, many years to learn, but with a little concentration, a little willpower, he’d learned how to maintain his biped form while summoning the wolf inside. Something that the Elders probably didn’t want him to do, or have the others find out about.
    Or anyone, for that matter.
    The first time he effected the partial change, he actually gauged his success by feeling and studying his reflection in the bedroom mirror, smiling at the fright framed in glass. It took even more strenuous practice to change only parts of his body. The strength and power that came with the limited change was almost as seductive as if he’d completely gone over. Almost.
    But Borland preferred being man-shaped at times like these. Even though he was nowhere near as fast or strong as a fully transformed werewolf, he was still faster than one in its man suit, and certainly much stronger.
    As Blackbeard had discovered.
    Borland hissed through fangs at his dead visitor. The second werewolf sent his way. He had no doubt that a third would be coming. Perhaps even more. That thought made Borland