The Trouble with Beasts (Howl for the Damned: Book One)

by D. Fischer

  My long black hair is French braided tightly against my scalp, a hairdo I normally keep. I usually only put it up like this when I’m in the gym, though. During my stroll last evening, as I was being chased, it was left loose and had cascaded down my shoulders. At some point between then and now, I had braided it.

  Light chocolate irises held within large white orbs and flushed pink high cheekbones complete my features.

  Cinder places my newly-filled glass back on the bar, startling me. The copper liquid sloshes within, raising the tarry, heavy aroma to my nose.

  “Thanks, friend,” I mumble.

  He places the bottle back on the shelf and whirls to me. “Am I?”

  I lift the glass to my lips and tentatively sip, frowning. Cinder’s expression is calm, but there’s an edge of impatience in the rigidness of his shoulders. “Are you what?”

  “Your friend, Loner,” he begins. “You don’t answer my questions when I ask them. You don’t take my advice. You ignore everything I say.”

  I tuck my chin and give him ‘the look.’

  He snaps the damp towel from his shoulders and wipes his hands. “Look. One day you waltzed in here, acted like you’ve known me since birth, and moved right in without asking. I still can’t figure you out. You’re a demanding little shit, you know that? You take what you want and forget the idea of bonding with another person.”

  I frown at him.

  He places his hands on the bar and bends toward me. “I don’t know one real thing about you, Jinx. I know you like to drink. I know you’re a witch. I know you have holes in any story you tell me. And sometimes, you smell like blood. And not your blood. I wouldn’t call that a friendship. If you didn’t live upstairs, if I didn’t notice that haunting look in your eyes, you’d be alcohol-less every night, huddled inside an empty, dilapidated refrigerator box propped by a rusted dumpster with nobody to call a friend besides the rats stealing your crumbs.”

  “Well, that was extra descriptive.” I lift my glass and gulp a swallow. His words sting more than he'll ever know. “And I have friends, I’ll have you know.”

  He lifts his eyebrows. “Just the ‘extra’ truth. And I’ve only met one of your friends. Though I approve of Sara, I’m not sure you’re sharing your problems with her either.”

  I bristle at his word ‘approve.’ The way he said it was more like him approving of her body, shapely as it is, and not the actual friendship.

  I pucker my lips. “And here I thought we were BFFs.”

  Pushing away from the counter, he rests his rump on the other side and crosses his arms. “BFFs? This is more of a hostage situation but in reverse. You can’t be best friends with a captor.”

  “Is that so?” I ask, twirling the contents inside my cup.

  He nods once, the silence stretching on despite his playfulness to ease the sting of his truths.

  I clear my throat. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself, then? You have all these questions about me, but I’ve heard nothing about you.”

  “I’m not open for discussion.”

  “Right.” I chuff. “Girlfriend? Wife? Both?” That would be a believable twist.

  “No.”

  I try again, hoping to rile him. “Do you bat for the same team and I was just a memorable experience?” I know he doesn’t – not with the way he ogles anything with two legs and just as many breasts.

  “No.” His jaw ticks, and I allow the small victory to lift the corners of my lips.

  “That’s not how this hostage situation works, Cinder. The abductor asks the questions, and the captive answers them.” I sigh, and my gaze roams the bar. “Can we get some food up in here? I’m craving onion rings.”

  Cinder’s lips part, and his features twist in confusion. “You already had some.” He gestures to the empty basket at the end of the bar, waiting to be returned to the small kitchenette in the back.

  “Oh.”

  His tone quiets, concerned. “Don’t you remember?”

  I shift in my seat, hearing the cushion squeak. “Of course. Just hungry again.” Standing from the barstool, I lift the glass and down the rest of my drink, preparing for a quick escape. “Put it on my tab, Cinderson.”

  In strides, I walk to the staircase leading to the second-floor apartment. I skip up the first few steps leading to my tiny, commandeered living quarters and stumble when he calls to my back.

  “It’s Cinder, Jinx!” His voice grows louder for fear I won’t hear. “And what tab? I haven’t seen a penny from you since you got here!”

  I tsk, shaking my head with exaggeration. “Such a worrywart, Cinderson!”

  “Money keeps the lights on!” he shouts before I shut the apartment door.

  Taking a deep breath, I sigh and rest my head against the doorframe. The TV I left on quietly jingles a commercial’s tune. I only have one channel, and often, there’s nothing to watch of interest.

  Turning it off, I stride to my stereo and flip the switch, all the while snarling at a potted plant my mother gave me when I left home, straight from her Wiccan garden. I never remember to water the damn thing, and its brittle leaves are beginning to flake onto the counter.

  Instantly, music pours through the room, a violin piece I’ve played many times over on my own instrument. The song is calming, a melody that soothes the nerves, and I begin to sway to it, undressing as I go. As I raise my shirt over my head, I eye a pinprick hole in the fabric. I prod at it, then toss it and the potted plant in the trash. The thump is oddly satisfying.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jacob Trent

  The door to the pack’s gym swings open, and Rex struts in with Evo right behind him. I sneak a peek outside and inhale a whiff of fresh air as it blows in. The sun sets in the background and highlights the Cloven Pack alpha’s yellow hair as it pokes through the canopy of trees.

  Lightning bugs flicker across the landscape. The dusty sapphire sky hovers above the trees, and the scent of pine sails inside before the door swings closed. Again, it calls to me on a primal level and beckons my wolf to explore our lands. I had surrendered to his urges only an hour ago. He had chased bunnies like a newborn pup while I sat back in the pocket of his mind, letting him have the reins to explore our territory.

  I chew on the inside of my lip. The time spent outdoors wasn’t long enough to sate his needs.

  The pack gym is accessible from both the back of the compound and inside. It was the one room they didn't renovate during the original construction. Just last year, the job was tackled. The stinging scent of fresh paint still lingers. It was Allie’s job. She had chosen the color and took charge of the entire renovation with an iron fist and several harmless pranks.

  I mentally shake the thoughts of my dead best friend and bring my attention to pack business because if I think about it too long . . . If I think about how just outside this gym door are headstones that scar the top of the hill, I’ll be stuck back in my own head. A prisoner to grief.

  “Evo?” I ask. “I wasn’t expecting you.” I had expected Cinder and Rex as it was their appointed pack duty. Rex went to the scene early this afternoon, but it was off-limits within a block radius and crawling with investigators. That’s what his text said, anyway.

  Rex jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Asked Evo to tag along. I met him as I was leaving the scene.”

  I curl my top lip. “Cinder didn’t go with you?” Surely it was early enough in the day to where the bar’s business hours could be subjected to change.

  “No,” Evo responds, scratching the blond stubble along his jaw. “The girl who lives in the bar's apartment wasn’t fit to work the evening shift tonight. Or something along those lines.”

  Rex’s rigid posture says it all. “Can’t trust new employees.” He’s not happy about going to the crime scene alone, either.

  Evo shrugs his broad shoulders, and his shirt bunches around his biceps. “Maybe she was sick?”

  “Could be. He did say she was in a daze.” The two of them snicker under t
heir breath, and I get the feeling they’re sharing a private joke. Perhaps they assume Cinder is sleeping with the girl and shirked from pack duties to get laid. If it crossed my mind, it’s sure to have crossed theirs. I wouldn’t put it past Cinder.

  I set the hand weights back on the rack by my feet and grab the towel draped around my neck. “What do you have?” I ask, wiping the sweat from my brow and refocusing the conversation.

  Rex sits on the bench across from me. “Evo has information from his connections.”

  “That’s expected from an ex-FBI agent.” I settle my elbows on my bent knees. “Did you discover anything at the crime scene?”

  Evo slumps on the exercise ball, a carefully balanced act as he lowers himself. The rubber of the ball and the rubber of the floor mat squeak when they chafe against each other under his weight. I briefly wonder if it’ll hold him for long.

  “It’s not a vampire killing. Definitely supernatural, though.”

  I grunt. “They let you on the scene?”

  Rex nods.

  “Was the neck really –”

  “Sliced to the spine,” Rex finishes grimly. “They wouldn’t let me near the body, but they let Evo. He got pictures.” Evo tugs out his phone, swipes his finger across the screen a few times, and holds the phone out for me to see. My lips twitch in disgust at the maimed neck of a male.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Rex continues. “It wasn’t done by ax or sword. It was done by a very large mouth. Canine, to be specific. The humans’ suspicions of fighting dogs seem pretty damn plausible.”

  I hand Evo back his phone, and he pockets it once more.

  “No ordinary dog could do that much damage,” Evo says. “It was definitely a shifter, one who can shift on the dime because the victim was also a shifter. To catch another shifter unaware like that . . .”

  “A rogue.” I whistle low, wishing for a moment that I could have examined the scene in person. “Did you catch a scent?”

  Evo’s eyebrows flick. He adjusts his balance on the ball and crosses his arms. “We did, sort of. I couldn’t smell the wolf, but I did scent a human. Female. Not anyone we’ve encountered.”

  “Well.” I blow out a breath, pausing. I’m confused as much as he is. How is there no scent of the wolf shifter who murdered the shifter? If a human was there, perhaps another shifter turned up to defend her. But, besides the shredded neck, that still doesn’t explain why there’s no evidence that there was one. “There’s not much we can do until we get a lead. Evidence. Witnesses. Anything, really. One dead body isn’t much to go on, and chances are this rogue will kill again.”

  Maybe she already has. With all the rogues about the city, it’s probable this isn’t the rogue’s first murder. I try not to dwell on that too long because if that’s the case, we have a real problem. I’ll be damned if Rex isn’t right about his ‘bad feeling.’

  “Will they let you examine the body more closely? Maybe the rogue left something behind on the victim that Chip can analyze.”

  Chip is a shifter in my pack. When we renovated the gym, we also built him his very own, state of the art lab complete with refrigerators for specimens, beakers and scopes, computers, and a whole host of expensive equipment that I don’t dare try to name. His mate Bia helps him, but she’s more into the research side of forensics.

  Evo’s lips twist. “I might be able to call in a favor. I know the woman who is running the case, and I’m friends with the witch who’s doing the autopsy. I’ll see if they have any details on the body.”

  “Do it.”

  It’s normal for creatures – witch or shifter – to work in such a place as a morgue. After all, who better to keep the species secrets than the species trying to keep the secrets?

  “Oh,” Rex says, pulling something from the back of his pocket. It’s in a plastic evidence bag, and he holds it up by the corner.

  “You stole evidence?” Evo asks in disbelief.

  “Borrowed.” Rex points at him.

  I lean closer, peering past the writing on the transparent bag. “Is that a throwing star?” My tone is disbelieving. “Who the hell carries throwing stars?”

  They don’t answer, and I bend just a bit closer to examine the etchings. It’s not a professional etching. These scratches were made by hand and then filled in with some sort of black paint. “What symbol is this?” It’s a diamond inside a diamond with a dot directly in the middle.

  Spinning the bag, Rex squints as he studies it. “Not a clue.”

  “Looks like an eye,” Evo adds.

  Rex passes it to him, effectively leaving his stolen evidence in the alpha’s hands for good. There’s not much we can do from the throwing star. We don’t have a criminal database, so we can’t run blood or tissue samples to compare to possible suspects, and I’ve told Chip and Bia several times over that there will be no hacking of a government system. The symbol might be something, though, and worth the steal if it can lead us to whoever killed him.

  “Getting to the body will be a lot easier than finding the rogue," Rex adds. "It could be any one of them out there. It could even be two rogue shifters fighting over territory. We don’t know.”

  “So you keep saying,” I mumble.

  A smile spreads across Evo’s face, and I know a change of subject is coming. “How’s the mate hunt going?”

  I growl and point. “No. Not you, too.”

  Evo holds up his hands, the bag dangling between his thumb and index finger. “Hey, gossip spreads fast.”

  “It sure does,” I grumble, giving Rex a brief look of blame and shame. “How’s fatherhood?”

  “Fatherhood.” My friend blows out a breath, puffs his cheeks, and runs a hand down his face. Kenna and Evo just had their second child. “Sleep is forgotten. Regurgitated breast milk is my new cologne. And it turns out changing diapers is a timed sport.”

  I chuckle. “Sounds like trouble.”

  “Sure is. They both have their mother’s genes, and you can bet your last dollar I remind my mate every chance I get.”

  I shake my head in mock sympathy and swivel to Rex. “Is Cinder closing down the bar tonight?” He nods. “We’ll need someone to replace him then. Tell Travis he’s running the perimeter with Trevor.”

  Rex stands, preparing to leave. “I don’t even know what kind of supernatural creature has no scent.”

  I share my thoughts that it’s probable another shifter protected the human. Rex looks at me doubtfully. “If that was the case, we’d be able to smell the shifter on the body. Saliva and all that.”

  “What do you think,” I ask Evo.

  With a sighing breath, he says, “After the Realms War, I think anything is possible. If the vampires were left behind, who knows what else lurks in the streets at night. We could be dealing with something we’re not prepared for.”

  I consider this for a second. The Realms War was packed with creatures from across the realms that I didn’t know existed. Maybe they’re right and we’re dealing with the unexpected. Or a rare beast of some kind.

  “Ask Reese, and if she doesn’t know, tell her to dig."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jinx Whitethorn

  My lungs fill with a crisp autumn aroma as the breeze pushes through the trees and rustles the leaves bathed in the pale moonlight. Twigs and leaves crunch under my feet, but I pad to the puddle’s edge anyway, sinking an inch deep in the mud circling the shallow water.

  I relish the chilled mud. It feels like freedom. Like I could take off at any moment, kicking up dirt while I race from tree to tree. The call of the wild sings in my soul.

  In the puddle, I see the circle of the moon blazing across the still surface. I lean to peer at it a little closer, but instead, I end up peeking at my reflection. Fur halo’s a bright white wolf’s face and when I blink, the wolf staring back at me blinks too. Astonished, I tilt my head, and so does the reflection.

  It’s me. I’m the bright wolf.

  Stepping away, I look to my feet and
lift a paw from the muck. I gaze behind me at the limp tail curled away from the ground at the tip.

  And in the distance, another wolf howls.

  I startle awake, flying up to a seated position on my couch. My soaked shirt sticks to my sweaty back, and the hairs on my arms stand on end. When I had flopped on the cushions, the sun’s rays were soaking through the curtain, creating splashes of light across my secondhand patterned rug. The rays are gone and my apartment as dark as the night sky.

  I run a hand through my hair, still kinked from the braid I had loosened, and take a deep breath to calm my racing heart and the lingering echoes of the dream. My fingertips come away slick with sweat. I exhale and glance at the clock, stunned at how long I’ve napped.

  Hoisting myself off the couch in a hurry, I ignore the throw pillows tumbling to the floor as I dash to the bathroom. Clothes are strewn, and I stumble while stripping off my socks and yoga pants. My shoulder bumps into the frame of the bathroom door in my haste, and I yelp at the dull throb.

  Sara had called before I fell asleep. We had decided to head to the bar downstairs tonight, and I promised I wouldn’t be late. Be Deviled is one of our favorite haunts, which I feel lucky to live right above. It’s sort of neutral territory for shifters and witches, a safe place to mingle and dance despite the rumors each species has heard about the other. It’s one place that the usual prejudices are set aside. It’s nothing much, but it’s making strides to be different than how life used to be between witches and wolves.

  Sara and I grew up with these prejudices between species. She’s never seen the point of it, but she’s not like me. She’s never been chased down by a shifter, nor have I told her that I have been. What would I say? A crazed wolf shifter chased me down. I blacked out, and when I came to, I was miraculously unharmed? She’ll demand more answers. Answers I can’t give her. Answers I don’t have myself. And then, she’ll demand I move home so she can keep me safe.