by Sharon Joss
Vince slipped out of his sweats and stood nude, stretching his thick bull neck from side to side.
Mike hadn’t expected to undress, much less shift into the cat. But if he was facing Vince in beast form, there was no alternative. He was no prude, but taking his clothes off in front of an audience wasn’t his idea of a good time. He kept his face neutral as he took off his shorts.
Silas had warned him to keep his eyes on Vince’s face. “To look away from a dominant wolf shows fear. Eye to eye is how weres sort out the strong from the weak.”
But Silas hadn’t said anything about where to put his hands. Standing butt-naked in front of a lone woman and a dozen guys wasn’t something he’d ever done before. He took what he hoped was a casual stance, and avoided looking at anyone except Vince.
He’d never seen a were-man shift into beast form, except on TV. The time it took for someone with ALVS to shift from one form to another related to the number of years they’d lived with their beasts. No way to tell from looking at a lycan how long they’d had the disease, but Mike figured he had a couple of minutes to figure out a new strategy. If the cat wasn’t on board, things could go wrong in an instant.
This is a game, big guy. A wrestling match; like we do with Farley. Inside his head, Mike felt the cat’s ears perk up.
Vince’s shoulders hunched and his back bowed, the crest of mane emerging first down his neck and along the line of his spine, followed by the snout, ears, and tail. As Alpha, his wolf would be bigger and heavier than his pack members, but against a three hundred pound jaguar, even an Alpha werewolf would be out-classed. Vince was shifting faster than he expected. Vince’s legs began to lengthen, and hair began to cover his body. There wasn’t much time.
He had no doubt at all that the cat could crush the skull of any werewolf that came within reach. But if the cat refused to submit, the entire pack would attack them and he wouldn’t be able to challenge Vince for Alpha. Hell, he probably wouldn’t survive.
It’s just a game. Let the big dog win. He sent the cat an image of a tussle with Farley. Only Tehuantl could speak to the cat directly, but simple mental images worked. Sometimes. A little slap and tickle. The jaguar had never been aggressive toward Farley. He’d always been very gentle when they’d played. Farley would take off in a snit if the jaguar played too rough. Those were the rules here. Let the big wolf win, but make him work for it. Everyone in the pack would have a chance to get their licks in on the new Omega after he was accepted, but it would be limited to one at a time. Not what he’d wanted, but for a week or two, he was pretty certain he could get the cat to go along with it.
Seconds later, Vince completed his shift. He was big. Bigger than expected. Vince raised his head to howl his challenge and the spectators joined the chorus.
Mike unrolled the black carpet of cat.
Vince’s silver and black wolf roared straight in for the throat. The jaguar slapped him to the side, raking him half-heartedly with his powerful claws, and the demand for first blood was satisfied.
The audience roared their approval, but his relief was short-lived. He hadn’t counted on the cat’s reaction. This wolf was a monster, and game to boot. The cat’s excitement overruled his mental urgings to stop before somebody got hurt. The jaguar was loving this rough play with the big furry dog.
As far as he could tell, all of Vince’s rational thoughts had left the building. The ferocious wolf was intent on going for the big cat’s throat with everything he had. The cat’s ear was bleeding, and Mike sensed a shoulder wound, but the cat’s fierce glee was obvious. He wasn’t trying very hard to hurt the wolf, but when the big beast managed to grab the jaguar by the throat, the game was over.
The jaguar growled and curled defensively, bringing his deadly back claws toward the wolf’s tender underbelly. Mike’s stomach lurched; he had to do something. Farley always ended their wrestling matches by pretending to savage the big cat’s throat. Mike fixed his mind on a mental picture of this and pushed this image to the jaguar. The cat froze. The wolf worried the cat’s throat from side to side as if to make a point. Mike pushed again. A moment later, the cat relaxed, and the wolf stepped back. The jaguar sprang to his feet, shook himself, and licked his chops as if to say, “That was fun, what next?”
Before Mike could celebrate, four wolves swarmed over Vince like angry hornets, each going for the soft flesh of the underbelly or throat.
What the hell? The jaguar leapt into the fray; a vortex of fang and fur. With less effort than needed to munch on a mouthful of popcorn, he grabbed one wolf by the skull and bit down. It was as if Mike’s own teeth had pierced the fragile bones. The sensation of soft brain matter against the cat’s tongue brought simultaneous satisfaction to the cat and revulsion to Mike. A second wolf darted in for Vince’s throat, and the cat slapped it across the clearing into a tree trunk, while Vince battled the big wolf that could only be Trick.
These wolves were Trick’s buddies, Mike realized. Trick must have planned to attack Vince all along, and waited until this moment to challenge Vince for pack leadership. The jaguar spit out the first wolf and grabbed a second as it tore into Vince’s shoulder. With a crunch, the cat’s powerful jaws clamped down on the spine of the unfortunate wolf. It began to scream and convulse back into human form. A moment later, Trick’s wolf was lying belly up to Vince in a furiously submissive pose. Vince began his shift back to human form.
Mike pushed at the cat to let him out, and the cat obliged. Instinctively, he moved to stand between a still-vulnerable Vince and Trick and the rest of the wolves, several of whom were now at the midway point in their transformation between human and wolf. In the aftermath of the confusion, only four members of the pack remained in human form: Silas, Chaney, Striper Dave, and one of the younger guys, Wyatt. Silas had a Taser baton, which he used to great effect to incapacitate Trick and the rest of Vince’s attackers.
Chaney had a can of energy drink ready to hand to Vince as soon as he finished shifting. Vince grabbed it and drained it in a single long swallow. A lycan rarely shifted so quickly in such a short time. The fluids and electrolytes probably helped a lot, but Vince had to be feeling the pain. Vince reached for second can and handed it to Mike.
“Good job, Bane. I know what you did, and I appreciate it.”
Surprised, Mike nodded. No shit. Apparently, weres did retain their state of mind while in beast form after all. At least Vince had. Maybe their relationship with their wolves wasn’t so different from his relationship with the cat. “Any time.” Already, the tension in the arena had dissipated.
“Can you believe this guy?” Vince ignored the disabled weres lying at his feet. He popped the top on another can. “When I heard he was a cat, I’m thinking mountain lion. I’ve never seen such a frickin’ big cat in my life.” Silas and Chaney laughed. One by one, the rest of the pack shifted back to human, except for Trick and the three injured wolves. The wolf with the crushed skull looked to be in the worst shape, but Mike had been told that weres were hard to kill. He hoped it was true.
Silas shot him a meaningful look. Oh, right. He took a deep breath and as Vince had done earlier, raised his hand for silence. He dropped to one knee and exposed his throat to Vince, keeping his hands open and at his sides. He fixed his gazed on Vince’s golden eyes. Felix hadn’t told him exactly what to say, so he chose his words with care. “I formally recognize and surrender to the superior authority of my Alpha. My blood is yours to shed.”
Vince nodded once. “Having proven himself to me and yielding to my authority, Mike Bane, I formally recognize and accept your submission.”
Vince gripped his shoulder and addressed the pack. “You all know we’ve been a bit short-handed lately. Although Mike’s beast is obviously not like ours, he has clearly demonstrated his understanding of our ways and willingness to serve the pack. You all know how much I value personal control over blood lust, and today, Mike demonstrated his ability to remain cool in the face of chaos, and put his Alpha’s safety before h
is own. Let it be known. Mike has passed the challenge for admission to the pack as Omega. As of this day, he is one of us.”
He was tempted to ask Vince for lone wolf status, but this didn’t seem like the appropriate time or place. Self-consciously, Mike gazed around the ring, nodding to each of the other pack members. Based on the nods and their expressions, it seemed as if most of the pack accepted him; those who didn’t, merely offered a hard stare. He moved to stand, but the Alpha’s firm grip held him. Vince wasn’t finished.
“But even as we welcome him into the pack, his actions today have shown his true character. No Omega would have done what he did when his Alpha was set upon. It is their nature to always surrender in the face of dominance. Mike’s beast not only drove back those who attacked me, he put himself between me and those who might have attacked me even after he’d returned to his most vulnerable human form. While the pack is served by several excellent enforcers,” he nodded toward Silas and Chaney. “Trick, the declared candidate for Beta position to replace Tanner has today proven himself unworthy of consideration. Therefore, I am selecting our newest pack member, Mike Bane as our new Beta.”
Mike scrambled to his feet. What the hell is he thinking? A Beta pack member was usually an Alpha’s most trusted ally. He barely knows me. This had to be a mistake. He could see the confusion and hurt in Silas’s face, and darker looks from some of the others.
“You can’t do that Vince,” Yolanda objected.
“You’re not an official member of this pack yet, Yolanda. But one more word and you’ll be facing the same the same punishment as Trick and his buddies.”
She stiffened, fire in her eyes. “What the hell kind of game are you playing here, Vince?”
Vince ignored her, as he checked on the wounded wolves. He sentenced Trick, Bruiser, and Steve-o to the veterinarian’s clinic for two days of solitary confinement. Lamarr, the wolf whose skull had been crushed by the jaguar, was dead.
The announcement hit Mike like a punch in the gut. Self-hate washed over him. He stared, uncomprehendingly, as one of the pack members picked up Lamarr’s body. The rest of the pack seemed disaffected by the death of one of their own. Was it truly such an everyday occurrence, or was mourning a fellow pack member seen as a weakness?
There was no time for an inaugural hunt to forge the new pack bonds before the park opened, but Vince had planned ahead. As they showered and changed, the caterers brought over a feast of steak tartare, sashimi, deviled eggs, and plenty of barbecued meats. Mike had no appetite for celebration. It didn’t seem right.
But to his surprise, one of the other pack members, Paul, spoke a few words about Lamarr. Paul seemed to voice the sentiments of the rest of the pack by saying that while dying in battle was a worthy end, attacking such a powerful wolf was the ultimate act of cowardice, and seen as a means to commit suicide. They were the actions of uncontrolled passions and desperation, not a soberly conceived, well-thought-out coup between well-matched rivals. The rest of the pack seemed to agree, and the after a single chorus of ‘here here’, the pack turned their attention to food.
The demand for food required a focused dedication that precluded conversation, as most of the were-men had shifted at least twice in less than an hour. Watching them eat, Mike’s appetite returned and he helped himself to a plate. Gradually, the food did its job. He even felt comfortable enough to stake his claim on a worn recliner. There was a lot of horseplay and good humor as the men finished up their chow, paid their respects to Vince, and headed off to report for duty.
“Hold up, Bane, I want to talk to you,” Vince said.
“Hey, I’m sorry about Yolanda. I blew it.”
“Wolves never apologize, Bane. It’s a sign of weakness. Now I know you didn’t expect to be handed the Beta slot, but I had a lot of good reasons for doing it. With the Summit coming up in September, I need that Beta spot filled, and Trick isn’t ready; no matter what Ambrose thinks. I smelled that set-up from a mile away. It’s about time Trick learned a lesson the hard way. The kid has enough juice to be a Beta, or maybe even an Alpha, but not until he learns to control himself. I don’t trust his judgment. I don’t trust him. I need somebody who can keep his cool.”
Mike hesitated, wondering if he should question Vince’s decision. “I don’t get it. You don’t even know me. What about Silas? That Chaney seems like a good man, and I’ve known Dave-.”
Vince waved it all away like a buzzing fly. “I’ve made my decision. I read your file and checked you out. The minute you stepped in to support me, you showed your true character. You backed me up today and I appreciate it. I think we can work together, so you better get used to the idea.”
Calming Alpha pheromones rolled over him. He still wasn’t sure about the Beta slot, but it was only for another week or two. Maybe being top cat in a wolf pack wasn’t such a bad idea.
* * *
Any ideas he’d had about fitting in with a wolf pack went out the window during the celebration hunt after the park closed for the night. It was a disaster. The whole pack took off at a ground-eating lope as soon as they’d doffed their uniforms. They’d been out of sight within minutes. The cat, delighted to be out on the Tor again, had no interest in running after a pack of wolves. He tried everything he could think of to get the jaguar to at least follow their trail, but it was no use. The cat caught an unwary turtle, ate it, and then spent an hour gnawing on the empty shell before finding his way back to the cottage.
Mike thought he’d go mad at the cat’s stubbornness. He tried to think up excuses to tell Vince. Everyone had told him that the ritual hunt sealed the deal, but was the whole pack really expected to run together as a group?
Probably.
Maybe he could tell them the cat bruised a paw or something. Maybe they didn’t notice he wasn’t with them.
Not likely.
CHAPTER 20 : TEHUANTL IN CHARGE
Mike paused in the main plaza, waiting for the initial surge of park visitors to swarm in through the front gates. It was bad enough that he’d blown his first hunt with the pack, but Tom had developed a high fever overnight. Mike had spent most of the day at the hospital, and had arrived late for work; even after the duty assignments had been given.
The plaza was packed with eager guests. Trams brought visitors up from the parking lot every five minutes and dropped them at the front gates. Reservations and the price of admission had been paid months in advance, so clearing the gates was a matter of checking the guests identification against the reservations. Visitors were given a badge and complete access to the park. The badge was swiped for all purchases made within the park, eliminating the need for cash. The only physical security at the gate was a metal detector for weapons. Just inside the gate, several costumed blood stewards greeted the visitors and handed out complimentary brochures containing a map of the park’s attractions and a table of show times.
Vince had assigned him to work with Silas in the theatre sector at the opposite end of the park. He noticed a tuxedoed street performer near the fountain, attracting a small crowd. It was Jared, one of the blood stewards. With a series of graceful movements, he was creating art in the still air using nothing more than a bit of colored smoke. In one hand he held a white feather, in the other, a multi-colored ribbon scarf. His foot controlled the pedal of a small contraption which allowed him to control the release of smoke.
Using the feather, Jared manipulated the dense vapor, using the feather to cut it and the scarf to swirl the air and shape it into a variety of designs. Taking suggestions from the crowd, he created an assortment of shapes, animals, and monsters; each elicited an appreciative gasp from the crowd as it hung in the air for a moment before fading away. A woman offered up her name, and moment later, the magician had arranged the letters around her head like a halo. As he watched the smoke dissipate, Mike realized the whole audience had turned and was now staring directly at him.
He whirled to see a seven-foot tall figure a few feet behind him. From his silver eyes,
Mike recognized him as a vampire, but he didn’t appear to be wearing a costume. He was too good-looking to be anything but an actor or one of the musicians in the concert hall. Maybe this was some kind of show, he reasoned. With his long bleached-white hair, dirty black leather jeans and mud-spattered boots, he didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the ‘fundead’ Mythica experience. Something about this guy set off alarm bells in his head.
The vamp was armed for one thing. Weapons were expressly forbidden inside the park but he wore a bowie knife on one hip and an ammo belt of bullets draped bandolero-style across his chest. With those weapons, he should have never cleared the gate. Mike reached for his walkie-talkie.
Too late, the vamp raised his hand shot him with a stun gun.
Twin projectiles slammed into his chest like torpedoes. He fell to the ground, as 50,000 volts of electricity coursed through him. He was dimly aware of the crowd cheering, thinking this was just part of the entertainment. Vince’s voice shouted at him from the walkie-talkie lying uselessly on the ground beside him. Mike reached for the cat, but in the void, found only Tehuantl, spewing forth like a volcano.
He screamed futilely, knowing there were hundreds of human victims within reach; but Tehuantl would not be denied.
The forced shift consumed him. He fought to remain conscious, but felt himself fading away beneath the mad shaman’s bloodthirsty glee. Mike caught the scent of the vamp’s bloody breath and felt Tehuantl’s fierce rage when the vampire stabbed him, before being shoved down into the darkness.
CHAPTER 21 : THE DELIMMA
Ambrose Van Cleve sat in stunned silence as Vince replayed the video a second time. One moment, the man they all recognized as Mike Bane was hit in the chest with a high-voltage Taser; the next, a completely different man had hurled himself at his attacker.
The image quality was excellent. No one said a word during the madman’s deadly rampage against the vampire. The film showed the arrival of Silas and Chaney just as the brawny killer ripped the vampire’s heart out. Silas had used the bounty hunter’s own knife to separate what was left of the vampire’s head from the remains of the carcass while the powerful killer stomped and crowed a ritualized victory dance; no less horrifying for the lack of sound. The whole thing lasted less than five minutes.
