Copyright
The Werewolf Whisperer
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Camilla Ochlan and Bonita Gutierrez
All Rights Reserved
Visit our website at www.werewolfwhisperer.com
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For P.J.
C.
For my boy. Kumite!
B.
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Prologue
Without warning, the creature turned sharply away from Lucy and bore down on Hanna at a dead run.
"Do it!" Hanna's voice had a hard edge.
Lucy's finger squeezed the trigger. A single shot rang out. The creature dropped. It was over.
Chapter 1
Kyon Virus
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
The Kyon Virus (also known as KV, Wereflu, or The Affliction) is a sudden-onset viral infectious disease that attacks the entire body, transforming the muscular and skeletal structures of the host. Typically, the first signs of KV begin with extreme muscle and joint pain and a temporary loss of equilibrium, followed by the development of canine-like features. Symptoms include excessive body hair, unnaturally vibrant colored eyes, lupine snout, sharp fang-like teeth, over-developed musculature, clawed hands and feet and preternatural strength. There may be a loss of inhibitions in the Afflicted, and in some cases, KV may cause extreme aggressive behavior.
The Kyon Virus manifests in hosts in a variety of ways, leading to the three-tiered classification of the Were: Hound, Feral and Werebeast. For further classification information see Lucy Lowell. See The Werewolf Whisperer. See Xochitl (Socheel) Magaña (Mah-gah-nyah).
No known cure for the Kyon Virus exists, nor can the symptoms be treated. It is estimated at the initial outbreak (see K-Day) one in twenty Californians contracted the disease.
Arms and legs pumping, lungs burning, Lucy Lowell sprinted up the Beverly Hills street due north toward Sunset Boulevard.
I hate when they don't listen to me!
Xochitl Magaña, her long blond hair whipping her cheeks, ran hard on the parallel sidewalk and cursed loudly in Spanish. The awkward weight of her Remington 12 gauge forced Xochitl to lag just a few feet behind Lucy. A great runner, Xochitl was obviously furious she hadn't caught up to Jimmy Stanton and Fat Dan Walters yet, but the shotgun was a necessity in case young Jimmy decided to bite his neighbor's face off.
"Why won't Jimmy listen to you?" Xochitl hurled the question at her friend.
"He thinks it's a game," Lucy replied between sharp breaths, exasperated. "Jimmy chases Dan. We chase Jimmy. To a Wereboy, it's hilarious."
Fat Dan Walters knew the neighborhood inconveniently well and had managed to elude Jimmy Stanton for the better part of half an hour, ducking behind fences and hiding in the long deserted alleys reserved for the Beverly Hills trash cans.
Unable to shake Jimmy, Fat Dan disappeared behind the tall cypress trees partitioning off a mansion under renovation.
They'd come halfway up Sierra Drive, and Lucy was sure Jimmy's parents had alerted the Beverly Hills Police Department by now.
"Keep after him!" Lucy crossed the lawn at a wind sprint, leaving Xochitl to pick up her pace as well.
The shaggy teenage boy ahead of them tore over the newly poured concrete foundation, leaving well-defined tracks — a narrow human foot with deep impressions accounting for the pads of four toes and deep gouges made by the extended claws.
Fat Dan, a thirty-something man with a beer belly and jowls of pudding, was nearing a heart attack, Lucy feared.
Lucy pushed herself harder, seeing Fat Dan fall to his hands and knees by the back fence of the property.
"Don't, man. Just please don't," Fat Dan gasped. "I don't care about the cat. Please don't." He put up one weak hand.
"OFF! JIMMY, OFF!" Lucy skidded to a stop and scrutinized the boy.
Jimmy Stanton stood still, his gangly form taut as if ready to leap. Teenage acne splotched his pale complexion, and his thin face was flushed from running. His wide mouth open slightly as if tasting the air, he revealed small but very sharp looking canines. The Wereboy's arms were exceptionally long, forearms poking halfway out from the sleeves of his plaid shirt. His hands were covered with silky brown tufts, and his fingers tapered into long, hard claw-like nails. His skinny jeans showed signs of extreme wear, scuffed and ripped, though Lucy wasn't sure if that was because Jimmy played rough or because the designer had favored the lived-in look. Jimmy shook his brown mane and let a chilling howl rip through the silence.
"Show off." Xochitl racked her shotgun. Unlike Lucy, she was not breathing hard, just having hit her stride.
"Jimmy, to me!" Lucy shouted. "Heel, Jimmy. Heel!"
The boy's naturally hazel eyes glowed amber, and he huffed with exaggerated irritation.
"Hey, Gordito!" Xochi shouted to Fat Dan. "Roll to me, you big tub of lard."
Her eyes still on Jimmy, Lucy stifled a smirk as Fat Dan curved toward Xochitl in a lumbered crawl. He moved with the grace of a dung beetle.
They'd just met Fat Dan Walters, but he'd made an unforgettable impression, arriving at the Stantons' mansion during a training session to accuse young Jimmy of eating his mother's cat. Lucy had seen more rational tantrums from four-year-olds. No wonder Jimmy had flipped out and chased after him.
"Jimmy, to me." Lucy pointed to the ground in front of her. The boy started toward her, head down and dragging his feet.
"BHPD!" a strident voice bellowed from the street, startling all four of them.
"Pinche cops!" Xochitl spat on the ground, barely missing Fat Dan. "Now they show up. ¡Ay carajo! Useless!"
"Ms. Lowell? Ms. Magaña? Is everything under control?" The officer stepped onto the lawn from behind the tall front hedges and returned his Taser to his utility belt. "Dr. Stanton called. She and her husband reported you were chasing down a Hound by Beverly Gardens Park."
"I want to report a wild — ow!" Fat Dan shut his mouth as Xochitl's boot ground down on his hand.
"Pardon me," she said sweetly. "My bad."
Fat Dan cradled his bruised hand and rose slowly. His baby blue T-shirt with the big-eyed cartoon horse looked damp with enormous sweat patches. Xochitl took an obvious step away from him. "I hate Bronies."
"We're good. Thanks," Lucy told the officer, distracting him from Fat Dan, and closed a leather collar around Jimmy's neck. "Rebellious teenagers.
What are you gonna do?"
A second BHPD officer made her way to the back lawn where Lucy and Xochitl now congregated with Jimmy Stanton and Fat Dan.
"Dan Walters?" The officer addressed the man, who was quietly shaking. "You live on North Maple? Next to Dr. and Mr. Stanton?"
Fat Dan looked at her gratefully and inched away from Xochitl toward the officers.
"Did you ever find your mother's cat?" the female officer asked with surprising interest.
Lucy looked at Fat Dan sharply.
"I don't...I don't know...Maybe...I don't know anymore." Sweat streamed down Fat Dan's face, and his voice cracked. Lucy thought he might rupture something. He stared at the ground and shook his head.
"Well, if we are done here, we are going to take young Jimmy back home. Maybe Dan can get a lift from you, Officer..." Lucy peeked at her nameplate. "Sharon. Officer Sharon." She gestured toward Fat Dan with her free hand. "He's not looking so good. And, by the way, if you have time, why don't you stop by Greystone later. We're doing a pet parent seminar up at the mansion this afternoon. Understanding and Training Your Hound."
Lucy smiled and fastened the clasp of her leash on Jimmy's collar.
"Bring friends," Xochitl added.
"Hey, that's great." Officer Sharon looked eager. "If I come, will you sign a copy of your handbook?"
The male officer looked less enthused and made himself busy with Fat Dan, respectfully calling him "Mr. Walters" and inquiring about his mother's health.
Lucy gave Jimmy's lead a sharp tug. "Let's go!" Her voice was higher and more sing-songy. Now that the immediate danger had passed, Lucy went right back into trainer mode.
The officers directed Fat Dan to their cruiser, giving polite nods to Lucy and Xochitl. Lucy noticed the male officer's eyes linger on Xochi's shotgun just a moment too long.
"Maybe we should get badges," Lucy said thoughtfully as she and Xochitl walked Jimmy down Carmelita toward North Maple. Xochitl looked at her with a smirk but didn't bother to say it.
"I'm just saying sometimes if the cops aren't friendlies, they could freak about the shotgun...if they don't recognize us."
"Long gun open carry is not prohibited as of twenty months ago. Read your Federal Werebeast Defense Mandate again, chica." Xochitl switched the Remington to her other shoulder. "Pendejos are lucky I keep the semi-automatic in the trunk."
"Pizza after we drop off Jimmy?" Lucy yanked on Jimmy's leash to stop him from pulling. "Don't trample on the grass, Wolfboy. You can use the can at home. I'm not picking up after you."
Jimmy made a face and took his hands away from his belt.
The Stanton's place on North Maple Drive was a Mediterranean-style mansion, built — according to Dr. Stanton — in the 1920s. The Stantons had retrofitted the three thousand five hundred square foot, four-bedroom home last year after Jimmy had shown signs of the Kyon Virus. Lucy considered the human sized doggie doors in the garage and the den a waste of money. Xochitl had noted the built-in self-feeder in the kitchen, filled to the brim with Hound Chow, and the strategically placed perpetual water fountains.
"At least he has fresh water." Xochitl had sneered and checked the cupboards for chocolate, onions and any other food theoretically hazardous to a Hound.
"So, are you going to tell them Jimmy isn't a Hound?" Xochitl looked at Lucy who was coaching Jimmy to heel by her side and walk with a loose leash instead of pulling.
"Yeah, have to." Lucy combed her fingers through her hair, painfully catching a few red strands on the buckles of her leather wrist cuff. She winced. "He's a Feral, no doubt in my mind." She pointed to Jimmy who was unsuccessfully working on opening the gate to his front yard.
A group of lady speed-walkers raced by. Their leader, a fit, white-haired Beverly Hills matron sporting a leathery tan, waved to Lucy and Xochitl with great enthusiasm.
"Hi, girls!" the rail-thin lady shouted and smiled a big, perfect smile.
"Hello, Mrs. Siperstein!" Lucy returned the wave.
"My Maedel has been so good! No more counter surfing!" Mrs. Siperstein gave them a double thumbs up. "You just have to get The Werewolf Whisperer. The girls saved my life," she instructed her gaggle of followers.
"Thanks for the endorsement!" Lucy shouted back to the passing throng. "Have a Werebeast-free day!"
"Really? Have a Werebeast-free day?" Xochitl asked, shaking her head slowly. "Is that your idea of PR?"
Feeling self-conscious, Lucy returned her full attention to Jimmy.
"He is so independent. He doesn't even look to the human for help. Not at all like a dog, more like a wolf. That's clearly Feral behavior. His parents are gonna freak."
As if on cue, Dr. Stanton and her husband Frank galloped down the garden path, and Xochitl bit back her response.
"Oh thank goodness, you caught Jimmy." Dr. Stanton threw her arms around the boy exuberantly. Jimmy struggled in his mother's embrace.
"No prob." Lucy cocked her head to the side. "Dr. Stanton? Maggie, we talked about how you can't smother him. He really doesn't like hugs. Hugging makes you feel better. It makes him feel trapped." Dr. Maggie Stanton backed away and looked at her husband.
"So many rules," Frank Stanton interjected for his wife's benefit.
"Common sense, really." Xochitl had lost her patience with the Stantons right around hour two of their three-hour in-home training session, and the unexpected jog clearly hadn't improved her mood.
"Let's discuss this some more over coffee," Maggie Stanton suggested, sounding tense.
A short while later, Lucy settled back into the Stantons' bleached snakeskin living room couch and ran a hand over the unusually soft scales. Unimpressed, Xochitl had made herself comfortable on the arm of the couch, balancing Dr. Maggie Stanton's fancy china cup — Limoges the woman had pointed out — precariously on her knee.
Lucy thought she and her partner looked out of place in the tastefully furnished great room. Floor to ceiling windows revealed a pristine garden, softening the stark design of the ultra modern interior. Lucy would never have guessed that the sharp edges and hard black and white of the inside of the house could have complemented the stunning Mediterranean outside, but it worked somehow.
"Postmodern Chiaroscuro," Frank Stanton said, glancing around his home. "I'm a designer."
"He's so modest," Maggie Stanton cut in. "Frank is brilliant. Brilliant."
Lucy looked down at her worn camo pants and black Doc Martens. The laces were fraying a bit, she noted.
Lucy signaled to Jimmy with her hand.
The leather brace on her forearm was strapped tight and made it difficult to turn the wrist smoothly.
"No point in freaking people out with your wrist scars," Xochitl had said to her when they'd purchased the set of buckled leather bracers at the Folsom Ren Faire over a year and a half ago.
That was one very odd day.
"Sit!" Lucy matched the command to the gesture. Jimmy planted himself in front of her feet immediately. From her perch, Xochitl squeezed the training clicker to reinforce the command.
"Good boy!" Lucy praised Jimmy and flicked a treat toward him. The boy caught it in his mouth and chewed with exhilaration.
"On your bed!" Lucy directed him to the fancy dog bed by the baby grand piano in the alcove. Jimmy couldn't obey fast enough. He sped to his bed and curled up in a tight ball.
Xochitl clicked again.
"Now give him a treat." Lucy encouraged Frank and Maggie. Frank flipped a round cookie to Jimmy, who gobbled the treat up in a matter of seconds.
"Good boy! You're a good boy!" Lucy used her high pitch training voice again. "Praise him," she told the Stantons.
Maggie and Frank walked closer, cooing elaborate compliments. Maggie reached out to pet Jimmy's head, which he took as permission to get up. He yipped happily, jumped from his bed and started spinning in circles.
"Are you sure Jimmy's never tried to eat anyone he's not supposed to?" Xochitl's question got an immediate response. Frank shook his head adamant
ly.
"Never!" Maggie shot out so fast and loud, she actually scared Jimmy under the piano.
"You sure? Really? Not even a nibble?" Xochitl wasn't about to let up. "What about that cat Fat Dan's looking for?"
"Mrs. Walters has twelve cats. She's always looking for her cats. Ten years we've lived here and not a day goes by she isn't looking for a cat," Frank scoffed.
"Fat Dan seemed to have his chonies in a bunch though. And he did find that little pink collar in your front yard." Xochitl looked at Lucy, eyebrows raised.
"Dan is just trying to justify his existence. He wants to keep living in his mother's basement. Wouldn't surprise me if he didn't do something to the cat, the little creep." Maggie's words came fast.
"All right, forget about Dan and the cat." Lucy saw the conversation derailing in front of her.
"If Jimmy really hasn't tried to eat anyone, that's good news. 'Cause you know, once it goes that way — they don't come back."
As she spoke Lucy noticed Jimmy creeping up behind Maggie, getting ready to pounce. "He's playful. Down!" she interrupted herself, sending Jimmy belly-down on the ground, instead of hurling himself at his mother's back.
Maggie and Frank Stanton spun around, shocked to see Jimmy so close. Xochitl set the delicate teacup on the side table with a clunk.
"I'm thinking he's a Feral," Xochitl stated bluntly and shrugged her shoulders.
"What does that mean?" Maggie Stanton sank down on the matching bleached snakeskin covered chaise. She sounded overwhelmed.
"Ferals and Hounds," Lucy started her usual lecture, "might have similar physical characteristics, but the behavior is not the same. Hounds are like dogs, you know, Lassie. But Ferals are more like wild wolves." The Stantons both looked confused. Frank bent down to pet his son's head.
"Think of it as a spectrum," Lucy tried to come up with an image the Stantons could understand, "a double rainbow." She got up to crouch next to Jimmy and Frank. "The Afflicted can fall anywhere from low-functioning to high-functioning and from docile to violent. Each Were displays a unique combination of these characteristics. Hounds and Ferals need strong leadership. In the pack hierarchy that would be the alpha."
Lucy signaled Xochitl to ready their assessment toy. "Jimmy has shown us he's got an aggressive streak, which means, unlike some Ferals, he will always need a tremendous amount of supervision and continuous training. That responsibility falls to you. You must be his alpha, his leader."
The Werewolf Whisperer (The Werewolf Whisperer Series Book 1) Page 1
