by Adele Niles
Griffin strolls over and gets his shotgun out of the cabinet. “They don’t learn too good, do they?”
Then fifty coyotes howl as one as they swarm the clubhouse on their bikes. They heave flaming bottles of gasoline at the windows.
The clubhouse is on fire.
Chapter 18
Belinda
I’m dreaming in a warm bed that smells of Drake, of me, and of the love we made.
Then I sit straight up. The dream that wakes me is vivid in my mind.
In the dream, I am looking at a wedding ring on my finger, and then I am looking up at my husband.
He is a huge black bear.
And he is wearing a leather jacket.
I start to laugh. It’s all my mother’s talk about “shifties.” Honestly.
I start to get dressed.
Then my hand goes to my neck and I feel a large scar where Drake bit into me.
Then I remember how it happened. I was on my hands and knees. He was giving me great, deep loving and I came….
Then he came…
Then I heard a low growl, like the rumble of a motorcycle. And his big, strong hands holding me down. Holding my face in the pillow.
And then his bite.
The pain was like lightning! And over just as quick.
I rub my hand on the scar.
There are things I still don’t understand.
I finish getting dressed and go downstairs to see the damage to the yard from the Howler attack last night.
There’s nothing to see. The club members cleaned up and took the bodies of the coyotes.
Luckily, the police haven’t called. It was like Drake said: nobody cares about one more dead coyote in the Catskills.
But what else did he say? When a werecoyote shifter dies, it changes to its animal form…
What the heck was he talking about? I know motorcycles have shifters. That’s how you get from one gear to another. But why would a shifter die? And when it did, how could it change to an animal?
And what the heck was a werecoyote?
I round the corner of the house where Drake had stashed his bike. The bike is gone, but his clothes lie on the ground. What the heck? Maybe this is a spare set?
Then I see prints. I’ve seen enough of them in my photography investigations of the area to know what they are.
Bear tracks. What was a bear doing this close to the house?
And where is Drake? Is he okay?
I call his phone. Immediately, its ring tone sounds from nearby. I follow the noise to the pocket of his jeans that are lying on the ground.
What the heck? This doesn’t make sense.
I have to find Drake.
Chapter 19
Drake
Our bears come out roaring. We charge outside and into the fray. I pick up the firewood stacked beside the building and heave huge chunks at the wheels of the bikes. Soon, all the bikes are down and the Howlers are rolling on the ground or crawling for cover.
Then the whole pack shifts as one and fangs and claws clash with mighty bellows and howls.
I smile when I think about E. J. warning me about my flank, when he has forgotten his rear.
The scouts come blasting in behind the wolves and start mowing them down. The survivors back off, snarling, and run into the woods.
Except for one. And my bear recognizes his stink. E. J.
As the members scramble to put out the flames, E. J. and I circle as coyote and bear.
This is the final showdown.
This is where it will end.
Chapter 20
Belinda
As I drive into Maiden’s Fork, I see smoke billowing from the direction of the clubhouse.
I pull into the gas station and jump out of my Jeep. The yellow-toothed attendant looks up from his comic book with his permanent sneer.
I run up to him. “The old church is burning!”
He snarls and looks back at his comic book.
I rip the comic out of his hand, get behind him, and push him out of his stool.
He looks where I have turned him and sees the smoke blackening the sky.
“Those men in that church have been protecting you,” I snarl. “They’re keeping the Howlers out of Maiden’s Fork and keeping the peace. Aren’t you going to help them? What’s wrong with you?”
He whips around. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me, lady.”
He lets out a mountain man yell that echoes from building to building. I see people stop in their tracks and stick their heads out of stores. Trucks stop in the street.
“The old church is burning,” he bellows.
Then all is motion. People grab hoses and buckets and fire extinguishers and start moving to the church. I jump in my Jeep and drive.
When I get there, the whole town is putting out the fire. Bikers, bakers, and builders are all working together to get the flames under control.
I step back in awe and watch until something in the nearby woods catches my attention.
A bear and a coyote are circling in combat.
Both are bloodied, but neither is backing off.
I run to my Jeep and grab my camera. I’ve never seen this kind of battle in my wildlife research. I could be the first to document it. I steady myself behind a tree.
The bear must be seven feet tall. Its massive black head has scimitar fangs and its claws are like machetes. Its lumbering body sways for balance and its black eyes follow the coyote’s every move.
The coyote is gray, but it’s not an eastern coyote. It’s way too big for that species. The size of an African lion, it has unnaturally large fangs, more suited to a saber-toothed tiger.
The coyote rears up on its hind legs and I can see it is a worthy opponent for the bear.
The coyote lunges for the bear’s throat, but the bear is fast. It slices across the coyote’s exposed underbelly with razor-sharp claws. Blood flies from the open wound.
But the coyote closes in despite the injury. It hooks a fang into the bear’s meaty shoulder. The bear bellows and then locks the coyote in a clinch. It rakes its claws across the coyote’s back.
The coyote rears back, screaming. Blood pumps from the bear’s shoulder wound.
They circle. The ground is covered with red.
The coyote pulls back on its haunches, its tail swishing for balance. It leaps for the bear, going for the throat, but the bear blocks the charge with its enormous forearm.
The coyote hangs off the arm. It rakes its rear claws down the bear’s exposed belly.
The bear turns in circles as though crazed with pain. But then it stops in front of a stump and falls forward, cracking the neck of the coyote on the wood.
The coyote’s neck lolls to the left, but the beast still breathes. The bear takes the coyote’s entire head in its mouth and crunches down on the neck.
The bear whips around once, twice, then lets go of the coyote. The coyote sails through the trees and lands with a bone-snapping crash.
Suddenly I see dozens of coyotes materializing from behind trees. I’m afraid they’re going to attack the bear in a pack and kill him.
But instead they run howling in the direction of the fallen leader.
The bear stands there, bleeding and panting. It drops to all fours and lowers its head.
Tears spring to my eyes. I’m afraid I’m going to see the magnificent beast die.
But then something unbelievable happens. The bear’s body begins to absorb its fur. There are cracking noises as the bear’s bones beneath its skin undulate and reform. The fangs retreat into its mouth and the claws shorten.
Then, in the speckled light of the forest clearing, I see Drake emerge from the bear’s body. Naked, bleeding, and panting on all fours.
I scream. And scream.
And then I run.
Chapter 21
Drake
I hear Belinda scream. I twist toward the sound.
Something is wrong with Belinda—I have to find her.
; I need time to heal, but you don’t always get what you need. I straighten to human height when Griffin rides up on his bike. He throws me some clothes and rags.
“Here,” he says. “You heal. We’ll go get her.”
“Get her from what?”
“Get her from shock, asshole! She just saw you phasing!” Griffin spins his bike in the other direction and takes off.
I’ll be damned if I wait while Griffin finds Belinda. She’s my woman. She needs me!
I jam my legs in the jeans and jerk the t-shirt over my head. I find my bike and mount it—only to realize I have no idea which way to go.
But just then Griffin blasts into the yard. He’s hauling a kicking, fighting Belinda.
He dumps her at my feet. “Here you go, bro,” he says. “You sure you want her?”
I reach out to a trembling, weeping Belinda who is trying to get as far away from me as possible.
“Let me go,” she hisses between clenched teeth.
I pull back. “Belinda, let me explain.”
“Explain what? Either you’re some kind of beast boy who’s going to have me for dinner, or you’ve slipped me some of your mushrooms just to watch me go crazy.”
I close my eyes and steady my breathing. “No, Belinda. I would never do anything to hurt you. I cherish you. You are my mate. I marked you. I will protect you forever.”
“Protect me? Protect me from what? Other crazy people like you? If I was back in New York City I wouldn’t need protection, because you’d be here and I’d be there.” Tears are streaming down her cheeks.
I hate knowing that I’ve caused her to feel this pain and confusion. All I want to do is make her happy again. “No, Belinda, you know that isn’t true. We need each other here, there, or anywhere between. We are fated to be together.”
I reach out again, and this time she doesn’t pull away. I push her hair back and cup her chin in my hand. She stares at me, the fear gone from her eyes.
“There are coyotes everywhere, Belinda,” I say. “They just come in different shapes. It might be handy to have a big damn bear to handle coyotes, don’t you think?”
She doesn’t smile, but she’s not crying anymore.
I take her hand and pull her into my chest. She resists at first, but I stroke her cheek and soon she nestles in my arms.
We hold each other as we both heal.
Together.
Chapter 22
Belinda
I take a tray of tea and cookies up to my mom’s room. She’s sitting up reading, fully recovered from the gunshot wound, but still needing a little pampering for her wounded ego.
She’s been forced to admit that the URSA bikers aren’t a bad group. And she’s getting used to the idea of her daughter dating a biker.
Drake and I still haven’t figured out how to tell her about the shifter thing—or “shiftie,” as she calls it—but we will.
Drake and I are going strong as a couple. We live together now and wander the woods gathering material for our coffee-table books on the local flora and fauna as well as the rustic buildings. I provide the photography, and Drake provides the knowledge and local lore. He also provides the protection.
Which I love.
Epilogue
We’ve made a new friend, Shawna. She’s also an artist, though her medium is canvas and paint while ours is photography and words. She’s about our age, tall and blond, and we haven’t quite figured out why she moved from the city. But we know at least one person who’s glad she did.
Griffin.
We can’t figure that one out either, because Shawna is into exercise, karate, and self-defense while Griffin would just as soon sit with a beer and pull out his shotgun if something needs defending.
But when she first came to the clubhouse—even before she walked into the hall—we saw Griffin scenting the air.
And every time he’s around her, he seems to get a little hairier, and his teeth begin to show.
Oh my.
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