by Pat Cunningham, Savanna Kougar, Rebecca Gillan, Solara Gordon, Serena Shay
Now the wolf lord, Damien Hancock, has stolen that idea. He’s found a human willing to turn other humans into beasts. Lord Ghan wants this human. Ranjeet is to see that he gets him.
The Doctor will not be in Talbot’s Peak itself, but those who know where he is will be. Ranjeet has a name and a species (Ewan the wolf) and a place to start (Dante’s bar). If Vishnu favors him, he will accomplish his mission without the need for violence. Violence is messy, and ruins one’s day.
Violence is what the Tiger Yakuza is for. At a single phone call a dozen ninja will swoop in and do what they do best, once Ranjeet provides them with a location. He himself will secure the Doctor. Some things must be handled personally, to ensure success.
He spots the gleam of saffron eyes by the side of the road, reflected off the headlights. He’s not worried. Cochrane will be traveling this same road, if he isn’t already. The man is insane, and so will make an excellent diversion. While the wolf lord deals with him, Ranjeet can slip in and accomplish his task.
He turns on the car’s radio and whistles along with the tune that comes on. One by one he passes the checkpoints, unhindered.
****
These are the pawns. The two kings in this chess game, Zhere Ghan and Dante, stand alert in their command centers and direct their men across the board. Dante gulps coffee. Zhere Ghan sips tea. No one knows where Damien Hancock is, or where he’s hiding his Doctor. Securing that knowledge is the top priority for both sides.
The sun rises on a Talbot’s Peak teetering on the brink of assault from numerous directions. Its populace has no clue. If Dante has his way, they never will. Zhere Ghan is less caring of the pawns. If some of them, including the Doctor, die in this skirmish, so be it. That’s all pawns are for.
****
Ewan and Maureen? They’re down in the kitchen of the Pleasure Club, feasting on sandwiches cobbled together from whatever’s been left over from the dinner rush. Maureen wonders if she’ll ever become a real werewolf. Ewan wonders if he’ll ever get to see her tits. They’re the only players on the board not looking to kill anybody. Poor bastards, they haven’t a chance.
Chapter Nineteen:
“Dinner Date”
By Pat Cunningham
Maureen bit into her sandwich, chewed slowly, swallowed, and made a loud Mmmmmm sound. “This is really good.”
“You betcha.” Ewan had already mostly devoured his. “Fresh-baked buns from locally-grown grains, prime beef from the Flying F, and whatever this crunchy green stuff is.” He pulled out the Romaine leaf, made a face at it, and set it aside. “Bunny food or not, I understand it’s fresh.”
“That’s lettuce.” Maureen picked up his discarded leaf and tucked it into her own sandwich. She ripped loose a bigger bite and chewed with growing gusto. “It’s really good, too.”
“That’s the human in you talking. I’ll bet you even eat salads.”
Maureen grinned with mayo-stained lips. “Only with meat in them.”
“My girl.” They had pulled stools up to the kitchen counter in the Interspecies Pleasure Club and made do with whatever they could find. That included rolls, onions, lettuce, and half a bottle of strawberry wine. Maureen had uncovered the platter of cold roast beef in the refrigerator. Someone had taped a note to it reading, Mine! Hands off on pain of death! Shandler . Under which Ewan had scrawled, Not any more. Thanks for dinner, Shand . “Now what’s that blush all about?”
“I’m not â�¦ ” Maureen ducked her head. Brown hair fanned across her flaming cheeks. “C’mon. We’ve only known each other a few hours. In those few hours I’ve kidnapped you twice, Tasered you, and hit you in the head with a cushion.”
“Typical coyote courtship. What’s your point?”
“Well â�¦ don’t you think you’re moving a little fast? You don’t know anything about me, other than I’m prone to violence.”
“Hell, that’s just your wolf blood. We like it rough once in a while. We also know when we’ve found somebody worthy of being our mate. So far you’re hitting seven out of ten. You lost points for eating the lettuce.”
“That’s the human in me,” she quoted back at him dryly. “How many points off for that?”
“Maybe a half. What the hey, nobody’s perfect.”
Probably not, but he sure came close. As a hunter, she’d been warned that shifters could be, well, shifty. Coyotes were supposedly the worst of the bunch. But this one â�¦ All things considered, he’d treated her better than her hunter teammates. Some of them scared the bejeebers out of her. She’d given him few reasons to be nice to her, yet here he sat, eying up her scanty chest but making no threatening moves, her somewhat imperfect gentleman.
And he made one hell of a delicious cold roast beef sandwich.
“What’s it like?” she asked him. “Being able to shift into a wolf?”
“Coyote,” he corrected. “It’s a blast. The whole world comes alive through your nose and ears. Your blood just explodes inside you with insane energy. Running through the woods at night, chasing down a bunny even if you never catch it, just the whole sense of freedom â�¦ there’s no describing it. I guess being a wolf’s about the same, except you’re slower and have no sense of humor. You still want that?”
Slowly, shyly, she nodded. “Then we’ll find a way to get it,” Ewan promised. “If that’s what you want.”
He poured her another glass of wine. Maureen inched her stool up against hers and rested her head on his arm while she munched on her sandwich. Ewan had already finished his own, so he put his arm around her, seeing as how it was freed up now and all.
He smelled so nice. So right. Maybe that was her wolf shifter genes, calling out to his.
“It’ll be morning soon,” he said. “Kitchen staff’ll be coming in. How about we â�¦ “
Maureen’s hand slid to the counter and spilled a line of crust. She had fallen asleep.
Ewan got up gingerly, so as not to jostle her. Just as carefully he lifted her from her stool. Her head lolled against his chest. She snorted a little.
Ewan tsked. “I have got to work on my timing,” he lamented.
Chapter Twenty:
Cue the Ominous Music
By Pat Cunningham
Barry peered out the car window, his voice high and jittery. “Oh Jesus. They’ve spotted us.”
“No shit.” Atcheson cursed under his breath. Of course every eye of every shifter in Talbot’s Peak was now trained directly on them. These were shifters, monsters, inhumans. Naturally they’d be suspicious if a cop car cruised into town and parked in the center square. They’d be doubly wary of anyone who got out of it, especially if those passengers were human. Any element of surprise they’d been hoping for had just vanished like a puff of smoke from one of Barry’s joints.
No way Atcheson was taking the blame for this. They’d lost both the van and Cochrane’s Chevy. The cop car, probably the least inconspicuous vehicle ever devised, had been the only thing available. What were they supposed to do?
Roll with the punches, his daddy always said. If possible, throw the first punch yourself.
Atcheson got out from behind the wheel for a look around. Barry and Lowenstein piled out like clowns from a circus car. Atcheson found the analogy depressingly apt. Ted grunted and groaned and finally squeezed himself loose with an assist from Lowenstein. “What now?” he panted. “We gonna eat or what?”
The townsfolk gave them the hairy eyeballâ��talk about your aptâ��but no one approached them or challenged them. All in all, life in the square seemed remarkably calm. “Cochrane’s not here yet,” Atcheson deduced. “We couldn’t have passed him. He must have gone straight to the bar.”
“So we hit the bar?” Lowenstein asked.
“Yeah. Set a trap. Catch him when he gets there.” Atcheson turned around to address his team, just like a real leader should. “Remember, he’s a werewolf now. A monster. He’d want us to off him. If he could, I’ll bet he’dâ��oh Jesus Christ!”
<
br /> “Mphf?” Ted said. After some effort he’d freed a squished Snickers bar from his back pocket. He’d already peeled back the wrapper and was munching on it right in front of Atcheson, so close Atcheson could smell the toxic combo of caramel, peanut and chocolate.
Dear God, was he insane? Or out to kill the team’s new, untried leader?
Atcheson smacked the candy bar out of Ted’s blubbery hand. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“M’hungry, man,” Ted mumbled. He looked hurt.
Now Barry and Lowenstein were looking at him funny. Get a grip, Atcheson ordered himself. He couldn’t afford to lose their support, not yet. “Okay, then. You stay here. Keep an eye out for Cochrane. If you spot him, call us. We’re going on to the bar.”
“Butâ��”
“That’s an order, mister.” Atcheson clambered back into the cop car. Was his hand burning? Were those hives? No, couldn’t be. Must be his imagination.
****
Ted had no time to wedge himself back into the car. Atcheson barely gave Barry and Lowenstein a chance to get in before he peeled out of the square. Within seconds the cop car was a cloud of dust with flashing blue lights. Belatedly, Ted shot it the finger.
He looked around for his Snickers, but a crow had already flown off with it. So much for breakfast.
Hold on. His gaze hit a place across the square. The sign said Bighorn Diner. Now that looked promising. He lumbered over and was welcomed by the seductive aromas of fried eggs and maple syrup. A sign in the window promised Flapjack Special — All You Can Eat $4.99 . All of a sudden the day appeared much brighter.
Screw the team. Screw Cochrane. Screw hunting shapeshifters. What had shapeshifters ever done to anybody anyway? Ted opened the diner door and went inside.
He was the lucky one.
****
Among those handing out the stink eyes to Atcheson and his team was a knot of young men on a bench by the town’s dog dish fountain. They were, in fact, wolves. They wore leather jackets and tight jeans and motorcycle boots and dark expressions. Since the “Twilight” movies came out, they had started dressing in sleeveless Ts, or going shirtless entirely.
To be specific, they were Hancock wolves, sworn to Damien Hancock. Their orders were simple: keep an eye out for strangers, humans, and any other beings who wouldn’t be missed. Morloxian was constantly running short of subjects for his ghastly experiments. If he couldn’t get humans he might start using shifters. This tended to spike motivation.
They spoke among themselves in growls and body language, indecipherable to ignorant humans. Monkeys , one said. The others nodded agreement. Hunters , said another. More nods.
The leader of the little pack grinned. Twofer . He jerked his chin at the wolf beside him. The low-rank leaped up to get the truck.
They let the fat one lurch across the square and enter the Bighorn Diner. His heart was probably three beats away from imploding. He’d never survive the trip to the lab, let alone the mutation process. The low-rank returned with their vehicle, a former bread truck that now said Full Moon Deliveries on the side.
The leader got behind the wheel. By now they’d lost sight of the cop car, but that was okay. The apes had been chattering loud enough to be heard clear back to the exit. The big blond ape had said, “the bar,” and there was only one bar at the end of that particular road. Hell, the mutts out there would give them a medal for saving their business from hunters. He trundled the bread truck out of the square.
Chapter Twenty-one:
Deuces Wild, Secret Agent Wolf
By Savanna Kougar
Deuces Wild, as he was affectionately known at the Interspecies Pleasure Club, kept his expression savage even as he mentally grinned. A bunch of ape goofballs got out of an obviously stolen cop car. To his trained wolfen eye, they weren’t up to no good in the Peak. Not yet. Instead, they appeared to be tracking another of their stinky, brainless kind.
Scat, one of them reeked of candy bars, and cheap hamburger grease. “Hunters,” he growled in wolf. “Bet they’re after Cochrane. Heard at the club that coyote screw up, Ewan, bit the bastard.”
For almost as long as he’d been part of Damien Hancock’s enforcer pack, Deuce had been Dante’s inside sourceâ��his loyalties switched once he’d discovered the depraved depth of the pack leader’s desire to rule Talbot’s Peak.
Deuce played a double game, feeding meaty chunks of info about Dante’s growing empire to Damienâ��his reason for frequenting the Pleasure Club. So far, his ‘secret agent wolf’ life had gone smooth as the Kentucky bourbon he favored.
Being Dante’s inside wolf manâ��Deuce grinned to himself againâ��they gamed out what tidbits of truth to throw in Damien’s snapping jaws. But why Dante wanted his sire’s mad scientist, Morloxian, to be supplied with more subjects … howls to freak-show hell, the alpha werewolf had said something about looming danger from a mammoth mutant werewolf, pieces on a chessboard, and the ‘good for all’ endgame.
Mentally, Deuce shook his head. He didn’t own that brand of smarts, that level of strategic gamesmanship. Not like Dante and his sire, Damien.
Scat, he was a street smart wolf, having been an orphan cub in New York City. Yeah baby, he’d taken ferocious bites out of the Big Apple. Deuces was damn proud of how he’d been able to survive, even thrive into his teen-wolfhood. But, with the lure of a werewolf-owned town, he’d moved west. Fast.
Now Dante relied on Deuce’s paws-on-the-ground intel. The main wolfman as Deuce thought of Damien’s rebel son, always showed his toothy-grinning gratitude. Plus, the rewards at the Pleasure Club… AHROOOOOOO WOO WOOOahhhhh!
When it became apparent the motley ape crew was headed for the bar to send Cochrane to the happy hunting ground, there were further yips and grrrs of communication between their bad-boy pack.
Deuce had carefully remained second in command, a superior position for his double life. It kept him close to the pack leader and freed him from being the low-level grunt who’d been ordered to get their delivery van. Everything inside the Full Moon Deliveries’ van had been set up for their ops, and to transport ‘captures’ to Damien, or in this case, Morloxian’s lab in Colorado.
‘Status?’ he mind-heard. Shandris’ soft voice sang through him. As usual, his cock pressed against his black leathers before he could stop the ‘bad boy’ from thickening.
The shy fae witch caused bolts of need to race through his blood. But she was off limits.
Dante hadn’t forbidden him from pursuing Shandris. No, the petite beauty claimed her powers would be lessened if she… to quote her words “allowed their involvement”.
Shandris had become part of Gypsy Red Wolf’s circle to protect Talbot’s Peak. She’d been able to join her mind with his, despite Deuce’s lack of supernatural talent. Shandris also possessed the supernatural ability to guard his thoughts from Damien Hancock’s psychics, as well as the Yakuza tiger shifter, Zhere Ghan’s psi-spies.
She kept a permanent but undetectable barrier around his mind, which left Deuce able to fully use his fang-tough personality, all while covertly gathering intel. He mindspoke with Shandris only when time was of the essence, and when she contacted.
‘Status is the capture of Cochrane’s crew. Take them to mad scientist Morloxian,’ Deuce telepathed.
‘I will remain connected. And watch through your eyes.’
‘You can do that?’ Yeah-yip, probably a stupid question. Although, Shandris hadn’t revealed that psi power to him.
‘Our bond allows for it now… secret agent wolf,’ she added, humor in her mind voice.
‘How did — you read my mind,’ Deuce teased. ‘Van is here. Gotta jump.’
‘Secret agent wolf man…’ Shandris sang to him as he leaped into the passenger seat. Oh hell howl, this wasn’t half bad, a fae singing in his head.
‘Am I distracting you too much?’ she asked, once the pack leader hit the accelerator pedal, and they pursued the ape crew down the open road.
‘Not so far,’ Deuce answered. He kept one ear on the pack leader’s barked orders, while listening with his inner ears to Shandris. ‘This is gettin’ easy as lickingâ��” Deuce stopped himself from finishing with ‘a bitch’s butt’.
‘Tsk, tsk,’ Shandris admonished, her amusement obvious.
‘I’ll have to mind my manners. But your little ears are gonna do some serious burning.’ Already the rest of the enforcer pack used foul language as they prepared the back of the van.
‘Sticks and stones,’ she crooned. Deuce found himself liking this side of Shandris way too much. His cock agreed, lengthening again.
“No scat ridin’ our tail,” Deuce reported to the pack leader. “The sniffer is clean,” he added. With the best nose in the pack, it was Deuce’s job to ride shotgun.
‘Message from Dante.’ Shandris interrupted the pack leader’s sideways glance at Deuce’s crotch.
“Something you’d like to share, Deuce?” he snarled.
“Beautiful bitch at the Pleasure Club. She got my attention, and I’m feeling her something fierce. It is Spring. You know how it is.” Deuce spoke in an offhanded manner. For good measure, he threw the pack leader an apologetic glance.
“Scat yeah, Spring. Did some tail chasing the other night. Just keep your mind on business. Damien’ll have our hides… hell, he’ll offer our asses up to that franken-wolf, Morloxian.”
“Got it under control,” Deuce growled, even as he felt Shandris enter her protective shell against him. Yet she didn’t disconnect her mind from his. ‘Message?’ he prompted.
‘Don’t let the mammoth mutant werewolf bite.’
Damn Lupa! The thing was alive and kicking.
Chapter Twenty-two:
True Romance
By Pat Cunningham
Maureen stretched, rolled over, and tumbled onto the floor. She came awake at once, fully alert. The dubious perks of a life on the road, hunting scary things with people who sometimes scared her even more.
