by A J Gala
“You didn’t have the self-control to stay out of my bathroom, but you did have the self-control to stop yourself from coming into the shower with me.” She passed by him as though he wasn’t even there and went to the sink for her brush. “Interesting. Not sure how impressed I am by it, though.”
Once again, Stephan was speechless. Once again, he felt like he was being scolded by an elder.
Blythe stared at her reflection in the mirror and ran the brush through her blonde locks, her hips swaying back and forth. “Guess it means you’re at least a little polite. I guess I can like that.”
“I was getting mixed signals?” he tried to justify.
She turned around and glared at him. “How the fuck was that a mixed signal?”
He shrugged. “You, uh, you seemed to have things under control.”
She rolled her eyes but laughed. “Oh, Stephan. I don’t think you can handle this.” She loved the flush in her cheeks after some private time in the shower. And the red in her lips. “Better be careful the next time you come over; you might get caught up in something you just aren’t prepared for.”
He took too long to come up with something to say. She spun around on him and he took a step back.
“Next time, I’m gonna devour you.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Thank god, he thought. Then he saw the time. 9:45 pm. The message was from Declan.
“I-I gotta go.” He motioned to the door behind him. “Goodnight, Blythe!” He backpedaled as fast as he could, bumping his elbow into the door frame on his way out. “You have a nice bathroom by the way. Maybe we could see a movie next time?” What a dumb thing to say.
Declan was going to be pissed. He opened the text message.
Could you take your dick out of your neighbor and let me in pls? No key and its fucking wet.
No key? Stephan left Blythe’s house and raced down her patio steps and into his own front yard. It was pouring outside and pitch black. His friend waited in the darkness on the porch, soaking wet. His motorcycle was parked in the driveway beside his truck.
“What happened to your key?” Stephan asked. He ran up the steps and unlocked his front door.
Declan stood up, a scowl on his face, and dusted himself off. “You changed the locks after Carlie moved out. Remember? I’ve been asking you for a new spare key for months.”
“Shit. That’s right, I keep forgetting.” He flipped on the lights and closed the door as Declan came inside. “Sorry.”
“Give me wings and give me beer, and all will be forgiven.”
“And I forgot to get the wings.”
Declan sighed and flopped down on Stephan’s worn leather couch. “I’d say maybe forgetfulness is a side-effect of the pill, but this is nothing out of the ordinary for you.”
“Think they’ll deliver in the storm?”
“Just put a frozen pizza in. You’ve got a million of them in your freezer.” He sat up and sighed. “I’m gonna go raid your bathroom for some towels and dry off. Then you can tell me how it went with your neighbor. It had better have gone good for me to be waiting out there in the rain this long.”
The thought of it brought back a sensitive sensation in his pants. He’d missed one hell of an opportunity. But it sounded like there would be others.
Declan walked off down the hall and the house grew quiet. Stephan hunched over his kitchen counter, his face buried in his hands. The heavy rain and hum of the pre-heating oven joined a stream of thoughts. What would happen tonight? What would this pill do to him? And what was he going to do about Blythe Saintclaire?
She was easily one of the most attractive women he’d ever seen, but she was also the most dominant, self-assured, and take-charge woman he’d ever known. This… this was going to be very fun and likely very dangerous for him. He found himself grinning like a child. “Next time I won’t punk out.”
“I knew it!”
Stephan hung his head and cursed. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“So, you bitch out?” Declan chuckled. “Doesn’t surprise me.” He glanced over to the window at Blythe’s house. “Maybe I should go over and introduce her to a real man.”
“Man, you don’t even know. She would eat you alive.” He grabbed two beers and handed one to his friend. “And I didn’t ‘bitch out.’ Things just… went differently. Next time, things will go—well fuck, I don’t know, next time she will likely tie me up and stick something in my ass.”
Declan grinned. “Say what now?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he waved at him, “forget it, she’s… well, she’s complicated, but in a very fun way.”
Declan’s face turned serious. “We got some shit to talk about, man. I just came from talking with Rift and Matt.”
“Lovely,” Stephan rolled his eyes at the mention of the two pack alphas. “Surprised they even gave you the time of day again. You know us be ‘lesser’ creatures than the all-mighty wolf and bear clans,” he spat.
“They are assholes for sure, downright cunts really.” He took a long swig of the cold beer. “But they are the alphas in this region, and well, animal kingdom rules apply and all that shit. But they have done alright by us, keeping us in the loop at times and looking out for us… even if we are abominations in their eyes.”
“Stroke their cocks a little more, Declan,” Stephan growled. “Here, I’ll call them up on the phone so they can hear that; maybe next time you see them they’ll let you suck their dicks.”
“Get fucked man, this is serious.”
“What is? You haven’t said anything yet.”
“They found Jeff and Torie… dead.”
The news rocked Stephan back a step. The two were shifter wolves and had been kind to him the few times they had met. “Damn, man. What happened?”
Declan looked around worried, almost like the walls had ears. “Shifter-Hunter Coven.”
Stephan paled and instantly felt sick. Hunter. It was the one word no shifter wanted to hear… ever. “Are they sure?”
“Well, they said they found them both dead about fifty miles from here, with ‘trophies’ missing.”
“So, what do they want us to do?”
“‘Stay hidden’ is what I was told.” Declan rolled his eyes. “We aren’t cut out for the fighting force, as they call it. But in human form, if we notice anything strange, we are to alert them.”
“What isn’t strange to me right now?” Stephan cursed. “After three years of this shit, it still feels fucked up and I feel no closer to knowing anything more than I did day one when you found me in a dumpster.”
“That’s something we need to get cracking on.” Declan stood up with all seriousness. “Turn.”
“What?”
“Did I stutter?”
“You want me to turn, right here and now?”
“Yes, idiot.”
Stephan put his beer down. “But I took one of those pills.”
“Hence why I want you to try to turn, let’s see if it worked.” He looked around. “No safer place than here and now.”
“And here I was hoping for a chill night.”
“Shut up and try already!”
Gripping the countertop, Stephan closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. Most of the time, the change just happened when it wanted to, during certain moon cycles or random mood swings. It wasn’t often he had tried to turn. It wasn’t pleasant, it was painful—fuck, agonizing was more like it. Having one’s whole body structure break and recompose to that of a fucking raccoon! Yeah, not the best of times. Turning back was always quicker, easier somehow, but still not pleasant.
He focused on his inner being, almost calling to the little creature he knew to be inside of him… it was him, but he always thought of it as something independent from himself. He felt a stirring, a tugging at his very core as he tried to call it forward, to make it come out.
Sweat began dripping from him, his body temperature rising quickly with the effort. Small shifts inside him were happening,
but not a single bone had begun to break or change. Soon he was gasping and stopped.
“Nothing man, it’s like it’s caged or something. Safe to say the pill worked, I guess.”
“I certainly wouldn’t say ‘nothing happened,” Declan replied, wide-eyed.
Stephan opened his eyes and stared down at his hands and arms. They were covered in thick grey and black fur. “What the hell?”
“If only your hands and arms were the worst of it.” Declan opened a utility drawer and fished out a hand mirror to show him.
Most of Stephan’s face was hidden and distorted behind fur and minor changes, making him look more raccoon than man. “I… I didn’t even feel the bones shift or anything. How can this be?”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t look like it’s stopping,” his friend said as the fur continued to spread.
He was about to say something when his voice was lost to him; the first of his bones began to snap and compress…
Blythe watched Stephan sprint across the yard in the rain, to his house where another man was waiting, looking none too impressed. He was cute, too; not as firm built, but he looked like he would know how to help a woman out in her time of need and not wuss out and cum in his hand.
The memory made her laugh; how devilishly fun that had been, teasing her poor neighbor like that. He would be the perfect plaything while she was here. He would do everything she wanted and more, so long as she didn’t scare him away too quickly.
Her cellphone vibrated and she picked it up, knowing who it was.
The next mark has been confirmed. Sending you the information. Get it done tonight. Clean and quickly, if possible.
Blythe smiled wickedly. Tonight… it would be a good night, indeed.
She threw on her leather jacket, grabbed her duffel bag from the closet, and left the house. “Time to find me a coyote named Margie Sawyer.”
She backed her sleek silver sedan out of the driveway and turned down the street, windshield wipers working away furiously. She had wanted a sexy, flashy car, maybe something red with black leather interior, but an unremarkable vehicle that blended in with everything else in a parking lot was what her job demanded. She could follow anyone and they’d be none the wiser.
She accelerated too fast through the neighborhood but didn’t give a shit who complained. If you only live once, maybe don’t play in the goddamned street while it’s raining.
Stop sign. Brake. Her lights bounced off the rain as it fell in thick sheets. She threw on a big smile and waved as a car went by, then stepped on the gas and headed east into the lower mountains. She hoped the mark would be in animal form. A dead animal she could leave to rot in the woods; a human corpse she’d have to dispose of. This rain would make a fire impossible. She glanced in her rear-view mirror to the shovel in the back. Might be digging a hole tonight… in the fucking rain no less.
“Stay outta trouble, Blythe,” she muttered to herself. That’s what they had told her. “If it’s bad, don’t make it worse.” They had said that, too. “Make the job clean.”
She had all kinds of traps, but shifters weren’t always as dumb as normal animals. Humans, even in animal form, lacked the acute awareness of an animal, but they were crafty and could work their way out of a trap most times. So, tonight wouldn’t be about traps; tonight would be about a Remington hunting rifle with a scope.
It might have been the new environment or the lack of real sexual action she had gotten, but tonight’s job had her all nerves. The tightness in her chest was not eager electricity, but something closer to dread. Her usual routine for a hunt was sex before, booze after. Perhaps she should have done it the other way around tonight.
According to the Shifter-Hunter Coven’s intel, Margie Sawyer stayed at a modest one-bedroom house deep in the woods on a private dirt road. Blythe grinned. Those were her favorite. Shifters enjoyed their privacy, enjoyed seclusion, and that made hunting them slightly easier; less likely innocent witnesses had to be taken care of.
She opened the message on her phone again for the details.
Howling Ridge Lane.
She was here. Killing the lights, she drove ahead to the next private road about fifty yards away on the other side of the street and drove the sedan up the driveway just a little, then pulled off into the streets. There wasn’t a soul in sight, human or otherwise. Perfect. She got out and popped the trunk.
Boots were in her duffel bag. They were worn-in with soft, flexible outsoles. They were lousy for hunting but wonderful for stealth in the muddy weather. She laced them on and tossed her flats in the trunk, then rummaged around for more gear. Extra ammo, hunting knife, .38 revolver… it always felt like she was forgetting something. Every time. With a deep breath, she gently closed her trunk and ventured down Howling Ridge Lane.
Coyote. Sometimes lone, sometimes in a pack. No rules. But from what she knew, Blythe doubted Margie had a pack. One-bedroom house in the middle of nowhere? It was almost depressing. Likely an outcast from the main pack. Wolves and bears didn’t care much for weaker breeds.
Blythe could’ve laughed out loud—it would almost be funny to see a pack alpha meet a tiger or lion alpha. Then they would know what being a weaker predator was.
She held the rifle close as she tip-toed through the overgrown property, rain and pine needles rolling off her jacket. SHC had admitted they didn’t have a full roster of all the shifters in Emerald Falls. They had surmised at least a dozen, maybe a handful more. She was aware she had no idea what she was walking into. Every hoot from the trees or skitter in the branches was potentially a shifter watching her.
Up ahead there was a porch light, burning bright in the damp, foreboding evening. Her heart thumped. Her blood rushed. Adrenaline filled her every sense. She was ready. She knelt behind the torn-up stump of an ancient cedar and looked through her rifle’s scope. The rain was fogging up the glass and the water drops made clear sight impossible. Fucking rain! Whatever… she had fired this gun a thousand times before and knew it well.
A tall, thin woman opened the front door and stepped out into the light. She was laughing, her tone joyful, a phone between her shoulder and ear. In one hand she held a joint, the other was resting on her midsection. A braid of long dark hair reached down her back.
Blythe checked her intel again. 24-year-old Native American female. She rolled her eyes. SHC couldn’t be more vague in their description if they had tried. But Blythe knew she had the right person. She could feel it in her gut. She strained to hear Margie’s conversation, to hear what she was saying to the other person on the line, but all she heard was light, airy laughter and muffled responses. Fucking rain!
This woman’s past doesn’t matter, Blythe reminded herself. The kind of person she is doesn’t matter. The bolt-action rifle was itching in her hands. She dies because of what she is. Those are the rules. A shot to Margie’s torso was perfectly lined up.
Blythe breathed in deep. Re-sighted through the fogged scope. Let it out. Pulled the trigger.
Margie screamed. The bullet had missed by a hair, lodging itself in the front door in a spray of splinters. She stayed on the phone for a few seconds, talking, then threw the phone and ran inside.
“Shit.” Blythe opened the breech to eject the spent casing and reloaded. She couldn’t believe she had missed such a perfect shot. Fucking rain! But she looked back out the scope again, seeing if the woman would come back out. Blythe was not in the mood for a chase.
A shadow loomed by the window; she fired again, refusing to miss the opportunity. The window shattered and the figure bolted away. Damn it!
Then, there was movement again. From around the back of the house. Blythe could see the silhouette creeping away into the woods with ears perked up. A coyote. Yes!
She stayed close to the ground and ran, keeping the rifle down until she could find another good spot to fire from. As far as she knew, Margie hadn’t spotted her yet and wouldn’t know where she was coming from. She was going to get her kill tonight no ma
tter what. But the coyote moved quietly, soft pads not snapping a single twig as she bolted from tree to tree. The heavy rain helped and deterred both hunter and hunted.
It was impossible to keep sight of her with the scope in the rain. Blythe needed a new strategy. She kept running, her steps a little heavier on the ground. She made her movements clumsy, so the branches and bushes swayed as she went by.
Animals were smart, they would run and hide. But people were stupid, they would try to fight if they thought they had an advantage.
She’d completely lost sight of Margie and slid the rifle to her back. Long-range was no longer the game. A twig snapped and Blythe drew her revolver.
“Who’s there?” she said. If the coyote was going to charge her, she was ready. She could take on a scruffy dog. God knows she had taken on worse in the last four years.
But that wasn’t what happened. Instead, she heard a voice call out to her.
“I’m over here! Help!”
Blythe narrowed her eyes. What the hell is she thinking? Does she think I’m a fucking idiot?
She checked her revolver, clicking the safety off. “It’s time to end this. You want to play games? Fine, let’s fucking play games, mutt!” She set off in the direction she had heard the cries.
Moving through the thick pines and underbrush, she was happy for the heavy rain just then. It masked her scent and ungainly footsteps, and if she was walking into a trap, she needed all the caution she could find. An alpha still might have been able to hear her, maybe even smell her, but this one was no alpha; just a stray that needed putting down.
The cries for help grew loud, and she cocked the hammer back. No more fucking around; point and shoot. She stepped into a small clearing, her target laying on the ground, no longer in animal form. Her leg was broken from the look of the angle it was at.
“Who… who the fuck are you?” Margie asked, eyes widening when she saw the gun. “A hunter!”
Blythe leveled the gun and moved closer, wanting a clean shot this time. No more misses. “Don’t move and you won’t have to suffer. I will promise you that much.”