by S Mays
“This is like some kind of Alice in Wonderland on crack,” Sverre said under his breath. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”
As they clomped up the giant wooden steps, the half-rhino bouncer lowered his gaze and pulled his sunglasses down, revealing his dark, beady eyes. “Well, shiiit,” he boomed in a deep voice that reminded Sverre of a popular R&B singer from long ago. “I can’t believe lil’ Izzy done come back up in this place.”
“How’s it going, Rocksteady?” she asked with a smirk.
His smile faded instantly. “I tol’ you, don’t call me no Rocksteady. I ain’t no damn Ninja Turtle.”
“Actually, he was the mutated henchman who acted as muscle for Shredder, not a Ninja Turtle,” Sverre corrected.
The man-beast turned slowly to regard Sverre with disdain, seemingly unimpressed with Sverre’s vast knowledge of cartoons and comic books.
“And who the hell is this?” he asked, leaning down to stare into Sverre’s eyes. He snorted, slightly mussing the front of Sverre’s hair.
“Big Ron, this is my new bodyguard, Sverre,” Izzy answered, uneasy that Sverre was already getting on Big Ron’s bad side.
The bestial man turned and looked at the other bouncer. They both burst out laughing. “Damn, you done hit the hard times! Goin’ from Chuck and that crew to this dweeb. You might as well just carry yo’ ass on back to where you came from. I mean, this shit is just embarrassin’!” he said, moving back to his spot at the door.
“Look, Ron, move out of the way. I’ve got business with Drake,” Izzy said impatiently.
“I done said move along, honey. Drake ain’t got no business with has-beens. You gotta be a playa to come up in here!” he responded, tugging on his jacket and nodding his head as if to affirm that statement.
Izzy had been afraid this would happen. She’d lost her old crew due to that damn traitor Chuck, and to boot, she’d been locked up for months. Drake liked action, and to be out of action for that long might well have meant she was never in the game to begin with. She had started searching through her bag for a proper bribe when she noticed Sverre was standing beside Ron. He reached up and poked the bouncer in the neck with his finger.
Ron jerked his head away and turned. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’, punk?” he roared.
“Your skin is so rough-looking, I was wondering if it felt like luggage or leather boots or what,” Sverre explained.
“Yo, you’d better call your boy before I break him off some,” Ron said, looking at Izzy. She stood motionless with her mouth agape.
Sverre grabbed his hand — which was a combination of a hoof and a hand — and studied it. “How the heck do you wipe, you know, back there?” he asked.
“That’s it!” Ron said, drawing back his other hand and rushing forward with a punch that probably would have pulped Sverre’s head if it had connected. However, Sverre turned and easily dodged it.
Sverre adjusted his stance but continued holding the large man’s hoof-hand, studying it. “Have you considered lotion? I’m sure it could get rid of this nasty coarse skin. It might be especially helpful for your face, which looks like an elephant’s butt that sat in a huge pile of steaming crap.” With that statement, he looked up and smiled directly at Ron.
Big Ron roared in anger, lowering his head to gore Sverre with his horn. He ignored the fact that Sverre still had not let go of his giant hand. In one movement, Sverre doubled his grip with his other hand, then twisted with all his strength, turning his body at the same time. Ron did a somersault through the air as Sverre basically lifted his body up by his wrist and flipped him over his shoulder, using Ron’s momentum against him. The large brute fell down into the street on his back with an explosive thud. Before he could get up, Sverre front-flipped off of the deck and landed squarely on his solar plexus. Most of the breath exited Ron’s body with a loud whoosh, and his eyes bulged out.
He groaned, gasping for breath, unable to get up. The other bodyguard and Izzy turned to each other in astonishment. The second guard remained where he stood, pretending not to notice what had just happened.
“When my boss asks to come into your establishment, the only thing you need to say is, ‘Right this way, ma’am,’” Sverre said, moving back to a stunned Izzy’s side.
He walked up the steps, pausing in front of the other bodyguard. The guard looked at Ron still gasping in the street, then opened the door for them.
“Usually, I just hand Ron a hundred bucks,” Izzy said, displaying a hundred-dollar bill.
“Yeah, but now they know we mean business. Also, this way you can hand me that hundred bucks. Yoink!” he said, grabbing the bill from her hand.
She’d never seen Ron manhandled like that. She smiled, thinking of the irritation it would be for Drake to have one of his top muscle humiliated in public.
“I’d heard of werecats and wolves, but a wererhino is new to me,” Sverre commented.
“Oh, he’s not technically a ‘were’ of any kind. I believe the big lug is actually under a curse. Probably pissed off a witch. Pretty much all true weres are combinations of humans and predator mammals like cats, wolves, or bears. I think it has something to do with the killing spirit shared between the species — or at least that’s my theory,” Izzy explained as they made their way inside.
The inside of the club was just as up to date as any regular strip club. Music blared, people danced, sat at the bar or in front of the stage. Figures on the stage whirled and gyrated to the music. Sverre started to wander toward the stage, instantly enthralled. Izzy grabbed his arm and pulled him away.
“Let’s head to the bar first and let Drake know we’re here. You can ogle the babes in a bit.”
The bartender looked almost human except for the fact that he had two slits on his face instead of a nose. Sverre figured he was probably in his early sixties.
“Well, I’ll be — Izzy!” he exclaimed, seeming genuinely happy to see her.
“Hey, Pete!” she said, jumping up onto a stool in order to reach across and hug the man. “Long time, no see!”
“Yeah, I heard about what happened. That’s a rough bit of luck. I’m glad to see you made it out okay,” he said.
“Luck had nothing to do with that.”
“I’m sure the boss will be happy you are back, too. Thing’s ain’t been the same since you left. He can’t find dependable help these days.”
“That’s why we’re here,” she said. “Oh, this is Sverre, my new bodyguard. Why don’t you whip us up some drinks? Two of my usual.”
Sverre nodded to the man, who smiled back. “Any friend of Izzy’s is a friend of mine,” Pete said. He slammed down two large mixed drinks, the ice tinkling against the glass.
“How did you do that?” Sverre asked. He never even saw Pete mix the drinks or grab any bottles. It took him about five seconds to make two drinks.
Izzy and Pete looked at each other and laughed. Pete shrugged his shoulders, raising his arms as if to indicate he didn’t know, but then two more arms appeared, then two more, all shrugging.
“Holy crap, you’ve got six arms!” Sverre marveled.
“Let me tell you, these six arms come in real handy in the bartending business. Plus, the ladies really like ’em,” he said, winking at Izzy, who giggled.
“Can you tell Drake I’m here?” Izzy asked.
“Anything for you, foxy mama,” Pete said. “Nice meeting you, dude. You take care of my Izz, okay?”
They moved to a table closer to the stage where two girls were dancing. One of them looked normal, but there were two large tattoos of wings covering her entire back. He could see something dark and jagged protruding out from the center of the tattoos.
“That’s Mindy. Used to have a set of the most glorious wings you’ve ever seen, until she couldn’t pay her dealer and he cut them off. Really, really sad story,” Izzy said, taking a sip from her drink.
However, Sverre’s gaze was drawn to the other dancer, who was a weretiger.
She was in incredible shape and had a lean, beautiful face. Her entire body was covered in orange fur with black stripes. Pointed ears protruded from her silky, long, dark brown hair. A tail swished around manically as she danced.
“Oh, lord, that’s Mynx,” Izzy said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t fall for any of her bullshit. The girl is as fickle as a cat.”
Sverre barely heard Izzy as he was entranced by the dancer’s fluid and seemingly impossible movements. After a few minutes, she noticed the pair and took note of his interested gaze. She climbed to the top of a pole near her, which was around forty feet high, and leapt into the air just as the music changed. Two new dancers strolled out onto the stage, just beginning their set.
Mynx landed silently on their table, barely disturbing the ice in their glasses, and hunched down near face level. “Well, hi there, handsome,” she said breathlessly as Sverre turned around, surprised.
“Uh,” was all he could manage.
“Would you mind getting your kitty-litter paws off of our table?” Izzy complained.
“Oh, hi there, Izzy. I didn’t notice you way down there,” the slender cat girl remarked as she sat down on the edge of the table beside Sverre, her feet dangling. “I thought perhaps a dwarf had wandered in from the mines.”
Izzy flipped over her drink, sending the contents toward Mynx’s bottom, but the cat girl got up before the liquid reached her.
“Who’s your friend, Izzy?” she said, walking around Sverre as if inspecting a used car.
“That’s Sverre, my new bodyguard, so paws off, please.”
“Ooh, I like that name. It kind of just rolls off of the tongue. Sverrrre,” she said, touching his shoulder. “Would you like a lap dance, Sverre? Or maybe you’d like to head back to the VIP room? Got any money, my big, handsome man?”
Sverre woodenly held up the hundred-dollar bill while staring straight ahead, mouth open.
Mynx squealed with delight, and the bill disappeared instantly. She jumped into his lap and kicked her heels while wrapping her arms around his neck. “I just know we are going to be weally close, my wittle Swerre,” she said in an infantile voice.
Sverre's eyes grew larger as he realized what was happening. The feline female jiggled and gyrated in his lap, overflowing with delight. He looked down at her bare chest as it bounced up and down, then his gaze shifted back to her face. She shot him a very mischievous look.
“You sure you don’t have any more money, Swerre-poo?” she asked, leaning in close. She rubbed her furry face against his. He heard the faint sound of purring. Tigers didn’t purr, did they?
“He’s broke, hon, so beat it,” Izzy said flatly.
“Aww, but I wanted to play,” Mynx said, getting back up. Sverre looked up at her, unable to speak. “Tell you what. You come back with more money, and I’ll show you the time of your life. You can be my number one boy toy!” she exclaimed. “Gotta get back to work, but it was real nice meeting you,” she said, turning to walk away. Her tail flicked up, and the tip tickled Sverre’s nose.
“Uh,” Sverre said.
Izzy sighed and moved his lower jaw upward, closing his open mouth. “She’s only interested in your money, honey.”
Sverre blinked a few times before coming back to reality. He turned and regarded Izzy as if he wasn’t aware she’d been there. “Can I have another hundred dollars?” he asked.
“Hell, no! Look up, playboy, we’ve got company,” she said, nodding behind Sverre. He turned just as a large shadow eclipsed half of the lights in his vision.
“The boss’ll see you two now,” Big Ron growled, not taking his eyes off Sverre.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The helicopter circled close to the treetops before disappearing. The natural landscape of hills, rocks, and trees prevented any aircraft from landing near the village. It would take the visitors twenty or thirty minutes to reach the village if they brought all-terrain vehicles.
Varulf exited from his hut, a low rumble in his throat. Tarja followed closely behind. They’d received word of this envoy yesterday. It had taken that long to convince Varulf not to rip the head off the messenger. Varulf wanted nothing to do with the Master, and while he was leader of the pack, his rule was law.
Decades spent in servitude, doing the dirty work that no human could accomplish or would want to, for sake of their humanity. He felt their pack had been reduced to nothing but honorless attack dogs in exchange for the amenities and wealth that drove normal men to be less than men. There was no glory in the work they’d done for the Master. Varulf had sacrificed much of himself in order to gain the independence the pack now enjoyed. The scars of the flesh always healed, but those of the mind lingered forever.
The pack had not thrived under Varulf’s leadership once they were free, however. He was a great warrior and a competent battlefield tactician, but that was the limit of his abilities. Sheer admiration and loyalty kept the pack together.
He separated the village from the world of man, believing that interaction with man’s selfish ways would further tempt and corrupt the pack. The greed of mankind disgusted him. While man considered creatures like wolves to be animals, the wolves looked after one another, sacrificing their personal needs for the greater good of all. The werewolves of the village were half-man, but the infusion of the wolf had changed them mentally and spiritually as well as physically. Yet there was still man within them, and man had needs and desires.
What Varulf didn’t understand was that while he himself was more wolf than man after his long life, his pack was not. While they still had the same animal passions and instincts as he, they still longed for the comfort and security that came with mankind’s civilization. Life in the wilderness was hard and unpredictable.
The first few months were the worst, back when they’d left the Master’s care. Tarja knew that the independence would be fleeting, because she understood that the pack was too valuable and dangerous to roam free. They knew things, secrets that the Master would not allow to fall into others’ hands. They were his best warriors, his elite trackers. In time, they might be replaced, but it would take many years of training and experience in combat to equal what was already available. She knew they’d have to face a choice one day, even as Varulf ignorantly thought they’d gained their freedom permanently. It now seemed that day had come.
A small group of men soon emerged from the shade of the trees at the edge of the village, riding in a six-wheeled armored vehicle. Parking near the edge of the village, the party exited the transport. They strode to the center of the village, the leader flanked by two men in heavy body armor carrying advanced assault rifles. The soldiers showed no fear of the pack, confident in their safety.
Varulf stood tall, barely able keep his snarl in check. Tarja knew she’d have to work hard to keep this man and his companions alive. If they failed to report back, it was certain doom for the village. She couldn’t let Varulf’s legendary temper lead to disaster.
The lead man, John Davies, walked up to Varulf, looked him in the eye, smiled, and held out his hand. Varulf was impressed with the courage of the human, while his instincts simultaneously told him to rip the smugness from the man’s face.
“Varulf, it is a great honor to meet you again, my friend,” John stated, still waiting with his hand outstretched. Tarja reached forward when it became obvious that no one else was going to return the greeting and accepted the grip of the man.
“Mr. Davies, I’m likewise honored. Please, would you care to step into our humble hut and out of the sun?” she asked.
Varulf glanced at her sideways, annoyed by her cordial greeting. He cleared his throat and asked, “Human, why have you come here? You know we are free people now. I paid my dues to your master. There is nothing you can offer us that we would be interested in.”
John smiled, turned to Tarja, and stated, “Thank you for the offer of hospitality, but we will only be here a moment, I’m afraid.” He turned back to face Varulf and continued, “The Master has a ve
ry generous offer. He’s set up a small island that has all modern housing and amenities for you. Plenty of game for you to hunt, and not too far from the mainland if you wished to visit more …advanced civilization.” He emphasized the last words while looking around the bare village. “The island is completely shielded from the Order and on no navigational maps.” Excited murmuring broke out between the werewolves.
Varulf growled, leaned in close to John, and said, “There is nothing we need from you or your people. We will not be controlled again. The fact that the Master is afraid to come here himself shows we have nothing to fear from him.”
John’s smile faded. He responded, nodding toward the two men behind him, “Perhaps it’s not him you should be worried about, eh?”
Varulf’s hand flashed forward but was caught by Tarja mere inches from Davies’ head. She snarled, “Calm yourself! We’ll all be dead within hours!”
Varulf looked at her, his eyes wild with fury, then glanced around the village. Hundreds of eyes looked back at him, many fearful. He recalled the promises of safety and peace he’d made to each of them. Many of the families drew each other close, waiting to see what their leader would decide.
Varulf sighed and responded, “I was promised we would be protected from your ‘Order.’ Are the Master’s promises worth nothing? As I recall, he holds his honor above all else. We’ve noticed drones far off in the skies at night. Is this your doing?”
“You were safe. I’d buried the location of your village and locked the files, guarding them with automatic worms. You were invisible to every form of surveillance available as long as you remained in this one location. However, with incidents like Rilus, it became harder to protect you. Your scouts were identified by two agents of the Order. People started asking questions and poking around. Satellites picked up your village not long ago. I don’t know what the higher-ups plan to do now.”
“Rilus was your asset! He was not one of my pack! He was cast out! He was never a true wolf, but a cursed breed! He chose servitude over freedom!” Varulf shouted, his anger once again overriding his reason.
