by Pat Cunningham, Savanna Kougar, Rebecca Gillan, Solara Gordon, Serena Shay
She took in her surroundings: cushions, gauzy curtains, walls painted cream with lurid red accents, a bowl of plastic fruit heavy on the apples, bananas and dates. Another bowl held condoms. That one looked like it hadn’t been touched in a while.
Oh yeah, and the sleeping wolf curled up on the cushions.
Memories rushed back like a flash flood down an arroyo. Mutual kidnappings, ditching her team, the blow to her hopes when she learned Talbot’s Peak was home to shapeshifters and not actual werewolves. Their bites couldn’t give her the abilities she wanted. She’d have to start over from scratch.
And Ewan. Mostly Ewan.
When she looked at him, even only thought about him, everything else drained out of her head. New imaginings crept in, and drained to other parts of her body. Her nose, for one. And that other insistent spot between her legs, currently sweating up a storm.
She cautiously crept toward him. He’d switched to his coyote form, perhaps as a promise he’d take no liberties with her while she slept. After less than a day with him, Maureen already knew with certainty he’d wait until they were both wide awake for any liberty-taking. From the indentations in the cushions she realized she’d been using his flank as a pillow.
He really was impressive in his beast form. She’d seen coyotes in the wild. They were runty things compared to Ewan. He had a wolf’s size and muscular build, but now that she looked more closely she could spot his mixed heritage in his tall ears, narrow muzzle and tawny fur. A bit of drool wet the satin cushion under his jaw. He smelled absolutely delicious.
Maureen thought, Oh dear God.
When Maureen was ten years old, her mother had given her “the talk.” Even back then she’d figured most little girls didn’t get the version Mom had imparted to her. “Wolves know their mates by scent. Like hormones aren’t messy enough. You’re showing all the signs of wolfiness, so you’ll probably get this too. When you meet the right one, you’ll know. He won’t smell like anyone else you’ve ever met. He’ll smell right. That’s why I married your dad. I can’t explain it any better than that. You’ll just know.”
She recalled thinking her mom and dad might have rapped their skulls against the headboard one too many times. That was before she drove through the dark with a naked shapeshifter sitting next to her, cute as the dickens and smelling â�¦ just right. Maureen wasn’t much of a wolf, but her sense of smell knew what mattered, and it had never let her down.
“Crap,” she said. “What do I do now?”
Whatever actions she decided on would have to wait. First and foremost, she urgently needed to use the can. But even before that, there was something about werewolves, and by extension shapeshifters, that she absolutely had to know.
She reached a trembling hand toward the sleeping werecreature and scratched him at the base of his tail. Ewan grunted in his sleep. His rear leg kicked spasmodically. Grinning to herself, Maureen slipped out of the room.
Now that she had a better idea of the Pleasure Club’s layout, she found the ladies’ room with no trouble. Business attended to, a quick splash in the sink and she felt marginally human again.
That was the trouble, wasn’t it? Maureen was only marginally human. She had just enough wolf shifter in her blood to make her a target to the people she palled around with. Just enough to recognize her one true mate when she found him. One drive through the night in a van later, topped off with a dinner of leftovers in the kitchen of a shapeshifter sex parlor, and she was in love.
She examined her reflection in the restroom mirror, her haunted but beautifully made-up eyes. Less than a day and she’d already gone through enough romantic angst for a lifetime. Never let it be said the Starkeys dawdled in the matter of relationships.
Whatever her next move, it wouldn’t be made in this flimsy piece of tissue paper trying to pass itself off as a dress. If she was going to fall in love with a shapeshifter, it would be in her own comfortable if unflattering clothing. She was pretty sure she’d left her duffel in the van.
She found the stairs back to the above-ground biker bar part of the building. The crew was already setting up for opening. The manager stopped her before she could get to the door. “Sorry, miss. You’re not allowed to go outside. Boss’s orders.”
“I just need to get some stuff out of my van. I’ll only be a minute.” She made herself face the guy down. If her nose was correct, he was a beta. Alpha body language ought to do the trick. “C’mon. We’re miles from anywhere, and I can’t shapeshift. How far am I going to get?”
He quirked a grin at her. “With a head start, about three feet. Okay, you get five minutes, but we’ll be watching you. Oh, and don’t bother looking for weapons. We swept it clean last night.”
“You got rid of the pizza boxes?”
“Not in my job description. Oh yeah. That bologna in the cooler? That’s gone too.”
Ted would be crushed. Though she’d probably never know. Then and there she decided not to seek out her teammates. They’d never been her friends. Heck, Cochrane teetered on the brink more often than not, and Atcheson could be downright creepy. Put ‘em in the rearview and never look back, as Uncle Ellery used to say.
The van was still parked where she’d left it last night. Her duffle was still crammed under a seat in the back. Maureen pulled out a blouse and made a face at it. Nothing she owned was fit for trying to capture a cute guy’s attention. Given the company she keptâ��used to keepâ��she’d always dressed for the opposite effect.
If this place had performers, it must have dressing rooms. Maybe the chorus “girl”â��or whateverâ��was still around. Maureen was willing to take in all the pointers she could get.
She stuffed the blouse back into the duffle and climbed out through the back. She shut the door and turned around, and bumped right into Atcheson.
“Well, well,” he said. He probably thought that twisted look on his face was a kindly smile. “So this is where you got to. Starting the party without us?”
Chapter Twenty-three:
Smash and Grab
By Pat Cunningham
Maureen backed up against the van. Her eyes darted past Atcheson’s sneering face toward the bar and the parking lot and any chance of help. Her hopes soared at sight of the cop car, only to plummet when Barry and Lowenstein climbed out of it. A delivery truck rumbled into the parking lot. Odds of the driver coming to her aid wavered at 50-50. One other car sat at the far end of the lot, but its driver appeared slumped behind the wheel. Some late-night partier, sleeping off his binge. He’d be useless even if he did come to in time.
She caught sight of one of the bar staff at the window, motioning to the manager. Atcheson waved to Barry and Lowenstein. “You boys go have fun,” he said. “I want a private word with Maureen.”
Barry and Lowenstein charged at the bar door just as the staff charged out. Surprise and momentum carried the hunters inside, driving the wolves before them, and dashing Maureen’s last slim hope of rescue.
Maureen tried to duck around Atcheson, but he slammed her up against the side of the van. “Now, where were we?” he said. “More importantly, where were you? And what the hell have you got on?” He fingered a fold of her harem outfit, then dropped it with a snarl of disgust.
“They kidnapped me,” she said desperately. “There are too many of them. We need to get out of here.”
“We’ll leave, all right. Once every single wolf in there is dead. Then we go looking for Cochrane. Has he been here?”
“Iâ��I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since the motel. I thought heâ��”
Atcheson struck her across the face. “Worthless bitch. I told him we shouldn’t let a woman on the team.”
Maureen slumped to the ground, barely conscious. Ewan, she thought bleakly. He was still asleep in the harem room. He’d think she’d run out on him again. He’d never know what happened to her. Assuming he even survived.
Atcheson lifted her and propped her upright against the van with hi
s hand around her neck. “Now what am I going to do with you?”
A blackjack cracked against the side of his head. Atcheson dropped like a stone. So did Maureen. They landed in a heap at the feet of the driver of the delivery van.
“Funny,” the driver said. “I was just asking myself the same thing.”
He reached for Atcheson. And jumped when a hand came down on his shoulder. “Your pardon, sir â�¦ “
****
From his vantage at the far end of the parking lot Ranjeet observed Maureen come out of the shifter bar. She paid no attention to the police car when it rolled into the lot, but he did. His keen eyes spotted Atcheson behind the wheel. Ranjeet slumped as if asleep, and watched the mini-drama play out while considering options. Interfere? Rejoin the team? Which would serve him best?
Then the delivery van appeared and the driver got out. Ranjeet sat up. He’d been well briefed in Damien Hancock’s known henchwolves. This one and his pack were suspected of snatching humans for Hancock’s mad doctor’s experiments. Other wolves got out of the truck and gathered near the cab while their leader took care of the hunters.
Ranjeet was not a fighter. He was not equipped to take even one wolf back to Zhere Ghan for questioning. However, this turn of events provided the perfect opportunity for him to engage in his forte: infiltration.
He got out his cell phone and punched in a secret number. Code words were exchanged. Ranjeet activated the phone’s GPS. Then he got out of the car and approached the Hancock wolf.
“Your pardon, sir,” he said once he had the wolf’s attention. “These are my friends. I cannot let you take them.” He braced himself for the expected reaction.
The wolf looked him up and down. “You gotta be kidding me,” he said, and whacked Ranjeet with the blackjack. Ready for the blow, Ranjeet rolled with it. He went down, dazed but still conscious. The phone and its signal were not damaged.
“Load ‘em up,” the wolf ordered his pack. He shot a glance toward the bar, where the sounds of battle raged. “Before Dante’s team rips those yahoos up and comes after us. Dr. Frankenstein’ll just have to be happy with three.”
Strong hands lifted Ranjeet. Through slitted eyes he watched Atcheson and Maureen similarly wolf-handled into the back of the delivery truck. “Hey,” one of the wolves said. “This one’s a she.”
“Hey. This one’s a genius. Haul tail, Einstein. You want those bouncers on us?”
Ranjeet was thrown into the back of the truck. The engine roared to life. A quick Uee in the lot rolled him into Maureen. He wriggled himself off her and saw she was awake, if not fully aware. Her glasses had been knocked askew. He adjusted them for her, and patted her hand.
He also patted his pocket. The phone continued to send out its signal to the pursuing Tiger Yakuza.
Maureen’s mouth moved. “Pete?” she managed.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “All is going according to plan.”
Chapter Twenty-four:
Kindred Spirits
By Pat Cunningham
Meanwhile, on the road to Talbot’s Peak, Cochrane had finally cooled down enough to realize he’d need more than a single gun and a couple grenades to take down a town full of shapeshifters. He needed more weapons. Also a plan. Also clothes. Otherwise he was just setting himself up for another dunk in purple paint, or another threat of butt probes. Or worse. Who knew what tortures the twisted minds of shifters could come up with?
He slowed and started watching the side of the road for signs of habitation. Talbot’s Peak was an aberration. Most shifters preferred to live solitary lives away from humans and even their own kind. Somewhere out here in No Human’s Land some lone shifter had a house, clothing, weapons and information Cochrane could use to carry out his assault.
Sure enough, that wide cut through the trees had to be an access road. He rolled the Chevy up it at a cautious creep. His guess was proven correct when he was stopped by a chain across the road. The sign dangling from its center read Private Road Keep Out Trespassers Will Be Shot This Means You Asshole. The sign was only moderate size, the printing small but in blood-red letters.
Cochrane grinned. You’ll be shot meant We have guns, which mean soon Cochrane would have guns. He parked the car, palmed a grenade from his glove compartment, stepped over the chain and started up the road.
Damn, it was awfully quiet for dawn in the woods. Too damn quiet. Nothing but the sporadic gobble of wild turkeys. Cochrane climbed at a steady pace, slowed by the need to place his bare feet carefully to avoid jutting stones. Damned butt-probing bunny could’ve let a man keep his shoes. â��The bunnies die first,” he muttered.
Something rustled the brush off to his left. Cochrane jerked in that direction. Almost at once he heard the clack of a shotgun. A voice said from his right, “This is as far as you go, mister.”
Cochrane turned slowly. Christ, it was a damn kid. A stupid shifter kid had got the drop on him. The kid was ugly, wiry and knock-kneed, but he held that gun like a pro. Cochrane peered around carefully and spotted another boy with a crossbow closing in from his left, and a girl with a wicked-looking knife edging up beside the boy with the shotgun. Noises from behind him indicated yet another one moving in from deeper in the woods.
Could they be human? Shifters didn’t normally go in for man-made armament.
Cochrane raised his arms, the grenade concealed in his hand. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” he said. “I need clothes and maybeâ��”
“You need to get your ass off our property.” The voice behind him was hard, no-nonsense and adult. “We don’t take kindly to visitors, especially not humans.”
Okay, that answered that. Must be herbivores. That meant they could be bluffed. Cochrane displayed his hand. “I got a grenade.”
“Big whoop. I got a grenade launcher.”
Cochrane risked a glance over his shoulder. Holy shit. That mother was almost as big as the wizened, ugly hillbilly wielding it. At this range there was no chance he’d miss. Cochrane snapped his jaw shut and froze.
“Good boy,” the man said. “Now toss that pineapple to my girl there. With the pin still intact, if you please.”
He did as ordered. The girl caught the grenade with the ease of an outfielder snagging a pop fly. She examined it while her brothers kept him under guard. “It’s real, Pa.”
“Thought so,” the old guy said. “You’re a hunter, ain’tcha? Thought you’d get the drop on us, eh? How come you’re nekkid?”
“How come you’ve got a grenade launcher?”
“‘Cause the government won’t let me keep a bazooka. Goddam federal regulations.”
“Screw the Feds. Ever heard of Dingles Hooper?”
The man’s expression lightened. “Yeah. He’s that Canadian fellah runs the trading post up by the border.”
“You want a bazooka? Let me go and I’ll put in a good word for you. The man has a way of getting things.”
The old guy looked thoughtful. “What’s your name?”
“Abel Cochrane. Yeah, I’m a hunter. I know my weapons, and how to get ‘em.” He nodded toward the grenade launcher. “That is one fine piece of artillery.”
“Should be, for what I hadda pay for it.” He looked toward his daughter, who was casually tossing the grenade from palm to palm. She nodded. So did the boys. “Tell you what. Instead of splattering you all over the trees, we’re gonna take you in. Put in a call to Hooper. If he says you’re on the up-and-up â�¦ well, we’ll have to see.” He made an even uglier face. “We need to get you some clothes. That poor puny little thing is wretched.”
He gestured with the grenade launcher. Cochrane started walking, ringed by the males with the girl in the lead. He had no doubt any one of the males wouldn’t hesitate to fire his weapon of choice. The girl would probably hurl the grenade. He imagined her throw would be accurate.
In spite of the situation, he discovered he liked this bunch. They were his kind of people.
The boy with the cro
ssbow sidled up to him. “Can Hooper get us a flamethrower? Our old one gave out.”
“Don’t bother the prisoner, Jimmy,” his dad snapped. “We gotta interrogate him first. You run on ahead and tell your ma to put fresh coffee on. This could take awhile.”
The kid took off. The old guy got the ball rolling by asking, “You get your grenades from Hooper?”
“No, from this guy Elkins in Wyoming. He only handles the little stuff, though. You want to get serious, you call Dingles Hooper.”
“And you say you know Hooper personal?”
“We’re not tight, but we don’t shoot each other on sight. Anything you want â�¦ well, I might be persuaded to assist.”
“Yeah,” the old guy said. “You will be.” But he was grinning now. Cochrane took in the first easy breath he’d drawn in a long while. For some reason, he felt like he’d come home.
Chapter Twenty-five:
Rude Awakening
By Pat Cunningham
Ewan woke with an empty sinking in his gut, convinced something somehow had just gone horribly wrong. It couldn’t be due to his dreams. His dreams had been full of Maureen showing off her tits and lots of frisky fun. Maybe that alarm blaring upstairs had something to do with it.
He looked around for Maureen and found her gone. Dang girl had run off again. Probably no farther than the nearest bathroom, her being female and all, but still. He’d been looking forward to waking up next to her so they could get to know each other a whole lot better.
Not with that alarm blasting, though. Ewan switched back to human and pulled on his pants. Check out the alarm first, then look for Maureen. If the two turned out to be related he’d be nabbing two birds with one stone.
The alarm shut off before he got upstairs. No big deal; the cause was pretty obvious. The upstairs bar was a mess, with overturned tables, smashed bottles, glass everywhere and one wolf on the floor holding an ice pack to his head. And two humans definitely the worse for wear. They’d been bound and stuck in a corner under heavy guard.
