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“No. It probably lost the eye in a fight with another shifter. That’s fine, though. We can put a glass one in the head once we get the skin off.”
Fuck, they were still going to skin him. Storm might hate himself right now and want death to take him, but that was a shitty way to go, even for a traitor like himself.
He tried to get back on four paws, but now the hunters suddenly went from curious and amazed at their catch to stereotypically evil.
One of the older ones rushed forward and kicked him in the ribs.
It really shouldn’t have hurt that much. It shouldn’t have hurt at all. Storm was still a cougar for God’s sake, but the boot to his side knocked the wind out of him, and he fell back on his stomach.
“Now you just stay down and behave yourself, and everything will be over with as soon as we can get it all done,” said their leader.
Storm groaned, one of his paws stretching out lazily, his claws extending and scratching into the wet earth, as though he could drag himself away.
“You sure this is a shifter, Dave?” asked one of the other hunters.
“It might just be a real mountain lion.”
“I don’t want to kill a real cougar,” the youngest of the bunch chimed in.
Hunted and on the Run
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Some hunters weren’t that bad. Storm thought briefly of Chance, one of the other hunters he’d worked with while he’d been serving his life-debt to Tony.
The kid still acted like a teenager from time to time, and he hadn’t been so corrupted by the life of a hunter that he was able to kill and torture as mercilessly as some other hunters out there.
The kid couldn’t even stomach an interrogation before he would turn green, go back to his room, or tent, or whatever, and plug some headphones in his ears before turning up his music as loud as it could go to drown out the sounds of screams.
That was another way Storm justified his actions with the hunters.
He’d wanted to be there for that kid, and whenever he could, he would always try and convince the boy, in any roundabout way he could, that he didn’t want to be there. There were better things for a young man to be doing with his life.
Storm had liked to think that when he’d saved the kid’s life, preventing those werewolves from ripping him to pieces, he’d made amends.
Fate, apparently, thought otherwise, or else he wouldn’t be here right now.
“He’s a real shifter. Saw him with my own eyes getting naked before he stuffed that bag with his clothes and whatever else he had on him. Then he changed into that,” Dave said.
“Wow, you saw it? Not on one of the cameras, but actually saw it?”
“Yup,” Dave said, not even looking at Storm anymore as he put down a huge duffel bag he’d been carrying and started rummaging through it. By the sounds of the metallic clinks inside, Storm could only imagine what kind of blades and hunting gear were inside that bag, waiting for him.
Fucking technology was everywhere nowadays. These idiots had probably gone to some spy shop, ordered some wireless cameras, and then stuck them in the trees.
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Marcy Jacks
Every year it got harder and harder to be part of the paranormal slice of life.
Dave actually pulled out a regular hunting knife. He unsheathed it from its leather holster and then tested the blade against the tip of his thumb.
“Nice and sharp,” he said, licking away the drop of blood and getting to his feet. “He probably won’t even feel the initial cuts. Todd, Bobby, grab him and tie him to that tree there.”
“Shouldn’t we give him something so he can’t fight back?” the youngest asked again.
“No, he looks good and helpless enough. We can do this without wasting any drugs.”
These guys were most definitely amateurs. The leader was right, Storm was too weak, but they were still amateurs.
“What about painkillers?” asked the youngest. Storm was still trying to figure out what his name was.
Their older leader snapped at him. “Goddamnit, can’t you just do this one thing without questioning everything I do?”
“But―”
“Do you think these fucking unnatural freaks gave Annabelle any pain killers before they ripped her hands and legs off and ate them in front of her?”
“No,” the man answered gruffly.
“That’s right, no. They killed my little niece, your cousin in case you forgot. Only nine years old, and now she’s in pieces in a grave somewhere.”
The older man’s voice broke as he neared the end of his rant. It was only when Storm heard stories like that that he understood why hunters did the things they did, became so sadistic and cruel toward Storm’s kind.
Sometimes Storm thought they might just deserve to be wiped off the face of the earth, too.
David pointed his knife down at Storm. “This thing is no different Hunted and on the Run
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than the other ones. He’d rip your face off and eat it in a heartbeat if he thought he could get away with it. It needs to be put down.
Understand?”
The hunter nodded. “Understood.”
Dave made a gruff sound in the back of his throat. “Good, now you go and―”
Whatever else he’d been about to say was cut off when a giant wolf leaped out from seemingly nowhere and landed on top of him, pushing the hunter down onto the ground.
The hunter hadn’t been prepared for the attack, and he screamed and flailed as the wolf had its merry way with him, teeth clamping down on his hands and arms as David tried to fight him off. He screamed, attempting to throw the wolf off of him, but no human, no matter how strong or well trained, could easily throw a werewolf off them in a fight.
Storm managed the energy to lift his head and take a look at the chaos that had suddenly occurred. The other hunters officially forgot all about Storm as they screamed and ran to their leader. They thought they were safe when they found Storm, weak and tired as he was, so no one was holding their guns.
The werewolf, because that was the only thing it could possibly be with a size like that, finally stopped playing around with its new toy and bit Dave on the neck. It sank its teeth so far down into the flesh that when it pulled away one second later, jumping off its prey, Dave’s face was still, blood not even spurting from the wound at his neck because his heart had stopped.
His head was bitten almost clean off. Storm could see the white bone of the neck. Disgusting.
The werewolf was so fast that Storm could hardly follow him with his eyes. He moved like a ninja, dodging swings of machetes, and when one of the hunters finally got his act together, he leapt out of the way of bullets with all the ease and grace of a dancer.
Not bad for a dog.
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Marcy Jacks
It seemed as though Storm blinked, and the only hunter left alive and standing was the youngest one in the group. The werewolf bent its head, the hackles on its back rising to attention as he slowly approached the last of his prey.
The guy only had the hunting knife in his hand that his father had given him before the wolf had jumped on him. That wouldn’t be nearly enough to save the guy.
He wasn’t childlike the way Chance was, but Storm didn’t want the wolf to kill him. More of that code of honor his abusive, honor-crazed family had drilled into him.
The guy might’ve been about to kill him, but unlike other hunters, he hadn’t want to make a torture session out of it.
Storm had appreciated that.
“Don’t kill him,” he said, so dazed out of his mind that he wasn’t sure if he spoke the words out loud or not.
The wolf stopped anyway, its ears twitching. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because…”
He didn’t know how to voice what he wanted in a way that would make the wolf understand, or even do as he asked. The day Storm had run away, werewolves had spared his and Chance’s lives because they owed him that. This werewo
lf didn’t owe Storm anything and could very well decide to kill the hunter out of spite.
“Please don’t kill him,” he begged.
He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen, but it definitely wasn’t what did happen.
The young wolf barked and lunged at the hunter then jerked to a stop right when the poor guy yelled and fell backward on his ass in the mud.
The hunter’s body trembled as he stared at the wolf, who was still looking down at him like he was lunch. His hackles raised, and those pointed teeth bared.
It must’ve gotten obvious to him that this was his chance because the hunter scrambled to his feet and ran faster than Storm had ever Hunted and on the Run
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seen any human go. He vanished into the trees, and soon Storm couldn’t even hear the sounds of his clumsy feet stomping around in the leaves.
Then the wolf turned on Storm, and he shivered.
The wolf approached, and Storm recognized him immediately.
“You’re that kid― ”
“Don’t call me that,” the wolf snapped. “I’m twenty years old. ”
Still young, Storm thought, but he made sure to keep those thoughts to himself. At least he was of age. Better than that, he wasn’t a teenager anymore either. Storm felt a little less guilt and sickness about his attraction to the guy.
“Where’s the rest of your pack?” he asked, laying his head back down to rest.
“Not here,” said the wolf, and Storm wished he knew the were’s name so he could stop thinking of him as just the wolf.
“I came on my own.”
He did? Strange. Storm expected at least a small group of the alphas to be tracking him, not just one lone, angry alpha.
“Well, you caught me. Now what?”
The wolf transformed into the body of the handsome young man Storm remembered from that snowy day in November. His eyes were as sharp on Storm as ever.
He flinched when the guy put his warm hand along the deep scratch left behind by that bullet, but not from the pain. He was afraid of what the wolf planned on doing to him.
Oddly enough, the other man jerked his hand away. “Shit, sorry.
Did I hurt you?”
Storm looked at him oddly. “What do you want? ”
The man knelt down quickly, grabbing at one of those shoulder backpacks he’d been carrying with him while in his wolf form.
The man unzipped the bag and started pulling out…gauze?
He pulled out all kinds of bottles and bandages, and it all looked like the kind of thing that meant he was planning on―
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Marcy Jacks
Surely not.
“Take it easy, now,” said the were. “I’m going to take care of you.”
Hunted and on the Run
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Chapter Two
John did his absolute best to wrap up the wounds of the cougar.
Storm didn’t seem to have the energy to make the shift back into a man, and that wasn’t a good sign.
He grabbed a water bottle from out of his bag and uncapped it.
“Here, drink this.”
Storm turned his mouth away, another tired groan rumbling from deep within his chest.
John grabbed him by the face and forced his head back. Storm didn’t even put up a resistance when John held the bottle upside down over his throat, forcing him to drink.
“What did you give me?” Storm asked.
“Something to make you feel better.” He hoped, anyway.
The water came from the pond on pack property, and within the last year they’d discovered there was something otherworldly about that pond. The water had some kind of connection to the spirit world, and when someone drank from it, or swam in it, it could heal their injuries. Once or twice it had also brought a few people back from the dead.
It didn’t always work, however, and that was the main problem with it. No one in the pack, not the wise woman, not the alpha, and not even the vampire medium who had also become an addition to the pack, could figure out just what it was that made the pond so magical or how to get it to work.
John just hoped that it worked this time, if only a little, so that Storm wouldn’t be in so much danger of dying in front of him or something.
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Marcy Jacks
He was pleased to note the way Storm’s brown eye cleared up, and though the long scratch down his side caused by a bullet didn’t close up entirely, it no longer had the infected look and smell that had made John fear for Storm’s life.
Storm actually managed to lift his head and look down at himself without much of an effort.
His eyes were curious. “What did you think it was? Poison?”
John had meant it to be a kind of lighthearted joke, but when Storm didn’t answer, he knew otherwise.
Storm got onto four paws, but there was still some effort involved since that long scratch had gone right down to the muscle of his hind right leg.
John put his hands under the cougar to help steady him.
“I got it,” Storm said, and John released him.
With a little more effort and concentration, Storm closed his eyes and shifted back into a man. Unlike when John had witnessed it the first time, this transformation was slower, more drawn out.
When a shifter changed shape, the amount of time could take anywhere from five seconds to five minutes, depending on several factors. How often the shifter made the change, for one thing.
Whether or not they were wearing clothing, and also health. It took some time for bones to change and realign themselves, as well as new muscles to grow, but Storm had done it ninja style.
The first time John had watched Storm shift, right before the cougar vanished into the snowy forest, he’d been wearing clothing, and it had taken him less than ten seconds to get into his animal form.
He’d practically jumped into the air as a man and then landed on the ground as a cougar.
It hadn’t been quite that fast or as cool, but that was how quickly John thought of it.
Now, with no clothing to hinder him, it took Storm the better part of three minutes to become a man again. John’s best time was twenty-five seconds, if he was in a real hurry.
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Storm immediately put his hand over his right eye, the one that was missing. His long hair was loose and dirty around his shoulders.
The sight of the man brought out protective instincts that John didn’t know he had.
“Can you grab my clothes?” Storm pointed to the little pile currently sitting in a mud puddle over by a shrub. It looked like the hunters had gone through his things after they’d captured him.
John wrinkled his nose. No way.
“I brought you an extra set of clothes. They're clean, but I don’t know how well they’ll fit.”
Storm’s one eye widened in surprise, and his mouth dropped.
“You did?”
Okay, clearly they were going to have to get some things straight here.
“I’m not here to hurt you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Actually, never mind, I know it’s what you’re thinking. Otherwise you wouldn’t have run away from me and hid all winter.”
Storm was still staring at him with that shock on his face. “Why else would you chase me?”
The question stunned John so much he nearly took a step back.
“You―you don’t know?”
Storm was finished talking with him apparently. “Can I at least have my eye patch? I doubt you brought a spare one of those.”
John blushed. He hadn’t. He went over to the mess that was formerly Storm’s human clothing and shifted through them, all the while keeping an eye on the man behind him to make sure he didn’t try and run again before he finally found the little black thing.
He had another water bottle with him, and since that water wasn’t filled with magical healing water, he used half the contents to wash the eye patch before he gave it
back to Storm.
Storm took it and quickly put it over his eye, but not before John could see the blood and scarring that was there.
“Are you injured?” he asked. “Other than your side, I mean.” John 24
Marcy Jacks
tried not to stare too hard at the long red line that went down Storm’s ribs and leg.
“No, just a little bloody,” Storm said, and then he stared at John.
“I’m Storm, by the way.”
John nodded. “Yeah, I know. Morgan told us all your name after you vanished. You have a last name to go with that?”
Storm shook his head. “Not anymore.”
Weird. “I’m John, John Platt,” he added as an afterthought.
“Well, thank you for chasing away those hunters, John Platt.”
John wished he knew what was going through the man’s head. All he was getting right now was suspicion, and Storm had completely cut his mind off so that John couldn’t communicate with him telepathically.
Werewolves couldn’t all talk to each other in their heads, even in wolf form. That ability was left only to the leading alpha, who could telepathically speak to all the wolves in his pack, if their minds were open to it, or two mated werewolves. John hadn’t known that the same thing applied to werecats, but they seemed to speak to each other with little effort before. The problem was that Storm apparently had no idea what that meant.
“What did you do with Chance?” Storm asked.
“That hunter kid you left with us?”
Storm nodded. “He is likely a bit older than you, but yes, he is the one I was referring to.”
“He’s fine,” John said, ignoring Storm’s comment. “Tried to escape a couple of times, freaked out when he had his first transformation, but otherwise fine. He still won’t really talk to anyone, and that’s fine since most everyone else doesn’t want to talk to him.”
Storm winced. “But he’s being treated well?”
John nodded. “Yeah. Isaac took to hanging out with him since he’s a former hunter, too. Kid called him a traitor and wouldn’t speak to him for the longest time, but I think Isaac’s starting to get him to Hunted and on the Run
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come around.”
John handed Storm the extra clothes he’d brought with him, and Storm’s hand robotically reached out to take them when John’s comment registered.
