by Mandy Rosko
I’ll Be Dammed
A FUC Academy Story
Mandy Rosko
Contents
Foreword
Introduction
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
About the Author
Copyright © 2020, Mandy Rosko
Cover Art © 2019 Dreams2Media
Produced in Canada
An EveL Worlds Production : www.worlds.EveLanglais.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This story is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.
Foreword
A note from Eve Langlais…
For a while now, I’ve had people ask if they could play in my worlds and I hesitated because I was scared. I finally said yes, mostly because I was worried a few might get out the rope and sledgehammer. (Just kidding, Mandy…or am I!)
As you can imagine, once I decided to go ahead, (with the encouraging shoves from my awesome assistant, Jessica Ripley) the conversation with my friends turned interesting; “Hey, you wanna FUC?” Thankfully most of my friends understand me, and even more amazing, quite a few wanted to FUC with me.
Hence, FUC Academy was born. (For a free quickie on what the academy is, you can read a short story by ME at the Worlds.EveLanglais.com). I thought the Academy would be a fun jumping point for some stories set in the Furry United Coalition universe. I hope you have fun reading them, because I know my friends giggled hard writing them.
Without further ado, please enjoy Mandy Rosko’s, I’ll Be Dammed. (Unlike me, she had the guts to put a beaver in a romance!)
Happy reading, and giggles,
~Eve
Introduction
Someone shaved her beaver...
Waking up without her memory, unable to shift, and sore all over sucked. The big one. Who is she and who shaved her beaver?! Beverley wants answers but she’s having a hard time getting the truth from the barn owl who claims she’s his mate.
At least he’s handsome. However this supposed husband of hers is hiding something and it’s driving her a little woody. She will gnaw at him until he tells her what’s really wrong.
But when she finds out the truth…having her beaver shaved will be the least of her problems.
* * *
Does this premise and world seem familiar? That’s because it is based off the Eve Langlais Furry United Coalition. Eve Langlais has invited her author friends to come and play in her world. To find out more please visit Worlds.EveLanglais.com .
Acknowledgments
Thank you, Eve Langlais, for taking a chance in letting me play in your FUC world! You’re an inspiration, a constant supporter, and have done so much for the writing community. I’m so glad to know you!
~ Mandy Rosko
* * *
Trigger warning
If you prefer to avoid books that include topics such as the loss of a child, we recommend you skip this book and stay tuned for the next FUCN’A installment.
One
Someone shaved his beaver.
Those sons of bitches. He was going to kill them for this.
Even from the heights he was flying, his sharp eyes picked up on the movement down below on a quickly built, and unfinished, beaver dam.
She scurried back into the water, and he knew she would be pushing herself into the little den she'd made for herself.
Too late. He’d already spotted her, even if part of him couldn’t believe it really was her.
But the smell was the same.
It should be impossible, but that was his woman down there.
But how the fuck did she look like that? She didn't normally look like that.
Albert had to circle around a few times just to make sure he had her scent right. That his sharp eyes were not betraying him.
If there was no mistaking this.
It was her.
After two weeks and no word from her, no sign of her, only terrified days and sleepless nights, he finally had his first sighting of her.
She was alive. But someone had done something to her. Someone had done this to her.
How? And when would he be able to find them so he could wrap his hands around their neck and start squeezing until there was no life left to squeeze out?
Didn't matter. He’d already gotten a look at her, and he could tell from a distance that was no wild animal going about its business.
That was his beaver, and after two weeks of no word from her after the attack...he was going to get his answers.
The barn owl above definitely freaked her the fuck out in a way only a predator could.
She'd barely noticed it at first, but when she did, all instincts flew to high alert and it felt like she had less than three seconds to get her half-furry ass into the water.
Owls ate beavers, and she was not interested in being the snack of a mean, giant flying rat.
Especially with half her back and ass exposed, something she was reminded of whenever the wind happened to blow.
Ducking into the water, she looped around and beneath her dam, climbing and crawling through the little space she'd made leading to her den.
Her barely formed den, which any wolf or fox could take apart with even a small amount of effort.
Shit. The damned bird landed.
She couldn't remember much of anything since waking up, sore and bruised, and shaved, but she did recall that shifters weren’t immune to predators. A field mouse could shift into a rocket scientist or someone who was on the brink of curing cancer, and it wouldn't matter one inch to the hungry cat.
And beavers might be the second-largest rodents around these parts, but they were still rodents. Dinner for pretty much everything bigger.
She had to be careful. Until she could get herself back in working order and shift, she was a snack to the creatures out here.
She looked up. Her dam, beautiful that it was, was also imperfect. She would never admit to that out loud—it turned out she was a proud beaver—but as it was, it was not much protection. She hadn't even had the chance to start making a second, drier den.
She could see up and out of it in some places. Spots where she had yet to add more sticks, more mud, and more leaves. Her lodge was little more than a house made from barely glued-together matchsticks.
Which meant that damn feather brain could look down and see her through some parts of it.
And it did see her.
Fuck. Fuck her life right in the ear. She was going to be eaten.
No problem. She was just going to leave her little beaver tail in her hidey-hole, and when the bird lost interest and realized she wasn't going to come out, he would take off to chase down some other prey creature.
Of course, she knew that meant she could be there for a couple of hours if the scruffy bird turned out to be stubborn, but she was definitely not coming out.
It wasn't a beautiful owl. Not like Hedwig from Harry Potter. It really was scruffy, and were those horns?
/> Great, she had a devil owl trying to get a piece of her ass.
And it was still looking at her.
Go away, you stupid bird. Get out of here!
It wouldn’t leave. If anything, it hopped around, as though searching for a way in, hooting and clawing at her beautiful creation.
God, give her a break, please?
Shift. Come on, shift. I can scare the stupid bird away if I can just shift!
It didn’t happen. Like every other time she’d tried.
It was supposed to be easy. Something she just did.
But she couldn’t.
She was stuck.
She knew she was a shifter. She might have no memories of being in human shape, or even her name, but she knew deep down, through some untold instinct, that she was a shifter.
This should not be a problem for her, but it was, because her body was refusing to cooperate.
Which was terrifying enough when she’d woken up by herself in the middle of nowhere, but now that terror was back and making her head swim because an owl was above her.
Looking for a snack.
She glanced up at it, and those wide, round eyes peered back down at her.
There should have been another thrill of fear. The terror of being eaten alive should have paralyzed her, but no.
Something else caught her attention instead. Another instinct she knew in the core of her being.
There was something familiar within those golden eyes. Something that comforted her, called to her, and, most importantly, made her skin ripple.
Not the crawling sensation that came after she’d woken up next to her own vomit. This was a much more pleasant sensation.
Even though, by all natural instincts, she knew there was absolutely nothing safe about the creature staring down at her. The curl of its beak, which could easily dig in and tear out pieces of her flesh, was terrifying, and those talons were something she could almost feel sinking into the meat of her juicy hide.
But something inside her objected to those thoughts, and she couldn't stop herself from feeling almost safe around the creature.
As though this was a critter whose eyes she had gazed into many times before.
Could owls hypnotize? No. Those were snakes. And only in cartoons.
But then, much sooner than she anticipated, it flapped its wings and flew away in a ruffle of feathers.
Leaving her sitting there, curled up and waiting for a sign it would return.
Then she shook her head and brought herself back down to earth.
Was she crazy? She’d nearly let herself be eaten by a damned owl!
Where the hell had that feather brain gone? There was no way she was leaving her den until she was sure it was safe. That damned owl was probably waiting in a tree branch for her to get out, patiently waiting for a meal.
Her vision sucked, but her hearing and sense of smell were pretty good. Just not good enough to tell if there was a predator hiding in the trees.
Definitely good enough to hear the masculine voice calling a name, which she assumed was her name, from beyond her lodge.
“Beverly! Beverly, I know that's you."
Beverly? That was… her. That was her name.
She didn't have anything to prove that with, but it was another feeling inside of her gut, something familiar and as wonderful as the sound of his deep voice.
Because it belonged to her.
That rippling feeling in her skin returned. She felt it beneath her fur and, where there was no fur, along her bare flesh.
Her name was Beverly.
And the male outside was hers. As much as the name belonged to her, so did he.
“Come on out, baby. I'm here for you. I recognize you. You’re safe now."
She didn't second-guess it. For the first time since waking with no memories in the woods and stuck in this damn helpless form, she felt like something was right.
She needed to be closer to that voice.
Because the person it was attached to belonged to her as surely as that name did.
Beverly dove back into the water. She left her den and swam out and away from her lodge, kicking her webbed feet and pushing herself with her small paws. She pulled herself back up to the surface of the water, and there was no owl there to greet her.
Just a very naked, very good-looking, muscular man.
A man with deep brown eyes and messy hair. Hair that seemed to be black, brown, and gray all mixed together, just like the feathers of the owl who’d been looking at her. A man with broad shoulders and tired crows feet at his eyes, who stared at her with an expression she couldn't place.
Someone so sexy shouldn’t seem so vulnerable. Not with a chest like that or a package like that, yet the guy watched her as though she was going to swim over to him with the solution for world hunger.
And for the first time since she’d woken up two days ago, she, Beverly, felt the change finally coming over her body. The fight she’d had for so long coming to an end.
She didn’t have to think about it.
She just let it happen.
Of the few things she could recall, Beverly was sure that it wasn't commonplace for a shifter to feel like a prisoner in their own form. Her freedom from that prison happened gradually as she swam her way toward the bank, her little paws and feet becoming hands with slender fingers and long, pale legs. She was finally going to know what she looked like, and that should've been more interesting than it was, but she couldn't take her eyes away from the man in front of her.
He didn't move to help her, which was good. She wanted to do this on her own, and somehow she got the feeling he knew that.
He did extend a hand out for her, though, but he held his body taut, as though he wanted desperately to rush into the water and drag her out. Instead, he gestured to her, like he was encouraging her to walk for the first time in her life.
“You can do it. Come on, baby. You can do it."
She did do it. It felt like being reborn. She couldn't remember a life when she had this shape, but here it was.
It felt alien to her for only a moment, but then that feeling was gone. A familiarity took over as she learned how to use her new arms, legs, and hands. She stood and walked the rest of the way out of the water with little trouble. The only annoying bits were when she stepped on something slimy or sharp.
Nothing she couldn't handle.
The delighted expression on Mr. Dream Boat’s face wavered, only for a brief flicker, but she saw it, and there was no going back from it.
Then she didn't care. He rushed to her.
Part of her thought she should tense, at least try to back away from him. He was a complete stranger. She didn't know him.
But again, it was that other instinct that grabbed her. The feeling of security and safety taking over even before his arms, thick with muscle and warm with life, wrapped around her. He pulled her close. Her naked chest pressed against his, and she could feel the heat of his body and the heavy pounding of his heart.
"Jesus Christ. Don't you ever scare me like that again. Don't ever scare me."
"O-Okay,” Beverly replied, not too sure she could keep that promise since she didn't know what she'd done.
She sensed that he was relieved by her presence. By her touch. She couldn’t offer him more than that, but for now, it seemed like enough.
Taking her by the shoulders, the large man pushed back from her. He continued to hold on to her, as though worried she would vanish from right in front of him.
Damn, was her vision ever bad, because, now that he was this close, she could see exactly how much more handsome he was. The sort of handsome that belonged on a magazine cover. The sort of handsome that made her question how this man could possibly belong to her.
From a distance, and even kind of fuzzy, he's been good looking enough, but this…
Whatever. She would take it.
“Are you a model?”
“What?” Great, even his smile blinded her. It felt li
ke there were sparkly stars flickering around his cheeks and mouth. “Really?”
“You're hung like a horse shifter, and I'm being blinded by your damned smile. It's not that weird of a question.”
He laughed at her. “It’s been a while since you asked if I was secretly modeling on the side.”
“I’ve asked you that before?”
It felt like a question she would ask, but at least his statement confirmed that she knew who this dazzling specimen was.
Now she was thinking about a horned owl shifter as being dazzling. She was so screwed.
Then he touched her hair, and Beverly felt his fingers gently grazing across bare skin above her ear and down the back of her skull.
Embarrassment rushed her, and she tried to pull away from him.
“Don't," he said softly. "Don't you worry about this. You're beautiful."
Dammit. His voice was so damn soft, but he said it with a conviction that forced her to believe.
"I am?"
He frowned a little bit, as though confused, but then he smiled, that rush of euphoria blanketing his features.
“What happened?” He sounded choked up on those words. “Where the hell have you been?"
She had no idea. And now it seemed like a good idea to find out the answer to the first big question she had.
"I'm sorry, not to be rude or anything, but who are you?"
His eyes widened, and that perfect mouth of his dropped wide open, giving her a full view of white, filling-free teeth.
He seemed to recover quickly, the frown marring his brow again.
There was a question in his eyes as he looked at her, like he was trying to solve a mystery.
