I opened my mouth to tell Quetzalli as much. But then a woman who could only be her mate came trotting out of the forest naked, her own wolf clearly stifled only seconds before.
“There’s a strange alpha heading this way,” she called toward us. “And he doesn’t smell good.”
Chapter 6
I found myself in charge of yanking clothes off the line while Quetzalli and her partner stuffed their ancient sedan with the few items of value they’d unpacked during their stay in strawberry valley.
“What do you mean he doesn’t smell good?” the former asked as she passed by with a cardboard box of kitchen staples hefted on one shoulder. I’d felt bad for gulping down so much of her soup when her cupboards were nearly bare, but now I was glad there was less to pack. The sooner their possessions were stashed away, the sooner these two could make tracks out of here. At least then I wouldn’t be responsible for bringing down doom on anyone but myself.
Because while I’d been able to laugh about “Big Mac” when Quetzalli had been looking all tough and strong beside me, I felt much less hopeful now. Not with the alpha breathing down our necks and causing my hostess to hover protectively around her sugar-and-spice mate.
Perhaps I should try to lead the alpha away? But one glance at Quetzalli working as fast as she could to stuff her box into the backseat changed my mind. No, I’d see this out and make sure the two women were safely on the road before the stranger arrived.
“He smelled....I don’t know...not quite in his right mind,” Quetzalli’s mate answered. Galena was the same age as her partner, but softer and more feminine.
She’d given me a quick hug after our brief introduction. I found myself thinking that it was a good thing Galena had found a tough woman shifter to team up with, because otherwise she would have been trampled by the patriarchal, over-bearing males who made up the average werewolf pack.
Trampled just like I would be when these two drove off and left me behind. My heart rate sped up and I forced myself to breathe instead of gasp.
“But he’s on foot, right?” Quetzalli prodded. “So he can’t follow our car.”
“Yeah, and I think that’s everything.” Galena slammed the trunk shut and headed toward the driver’s seat.
This is it. My muscles tensed, ready to run as soon as the pair was safely out of sight. But I forced myself to wait, the honor Wolfie had instilled in me requiring that I see their taillights in the distance before I took to my heels.
But they were taking forever to get in the car. And the alpha had to be drawing closer by the second. Why weren’t my hostesses gone yet?
Cocking my head to one side, I noted that both women were now looking at me quizzically. In response, my eyes flicked over the contents of the packed vehicle. I’d already stowed the full laundry basket in the back seat, so what could they be waiting for?
Spreading my hands out questioningly, I asked more than said, “I’m sorry?”
In what seemed to be her habitual response to my stupidity, Quetzalli rolled her eyes. “We’re waiting for you to get in the car,” she said, enunciating clearly.
“But where are you going?” Not that it mattered. If I was invited, I would totally hop this ride away from Big Mac. Suiting actions to thoughts, I slipped into the eighteen inches of empty space in the back seat and rooted around for my seatbelt.
“Well, I guess that’s up to you,” Quetzalli answered as she slammed her own door shut. “Personally, I like the sound of this pack you told me about. I think any alpha would be grateful if an absent member showed up bringing along such strong and beautiful women as Galena and myself.”
Via the rear-view mirror, I could see Galena shooting her mate a quick surprised glance. She’d missed out on story time and was clearly unsure of the idea of joining a shifter clan sight unseen.
And yet, the gentler woman was willing to trust her mate’s judgment. Not because of some submissive shifter bullshit either. No, Galena trusted Quetzalli to have her back at all times, and clearly Quetzalli trusted her mate not to make a ruckus about the lightning-fast decision either.
So after only a second of thought, Galena smiled at her mate and then met my eyes in the rear-view mirror. We’d pulled up to where the gravel drive merged with a highway and I could tell from the road signs in the distance that we had a choice before us—turn right toward Wolfie’s pack or left back into the unknown. “Which way?” she asked.
The real question was, could I rejoin my old clan without following their pack leader around like a love-sick puppy dog? Abruptly, I realized that the answer was a resounding yes.
Because Quetzalli had nailed my feelings for Wolfie perfectly. Sure, my wolf thought our previous alpha could protect us from all comers (and she was probably right). And we also agreed that he was smoking hot. (That one was a definite yes.) And yet...the bond that seemed to tether Galena and Quetzalli together was distinctly lacking in Wolfie’s and my relationship.
On my end as well as on his.
Which meant that I wasn’t in love with my former pack leader. I was simply suffering from a girlhood crush, just as his pitying eyes had told me. And just as the straight-shooter Quetzalli had confirmed.
In other words, it was high time to stop running away from my weaknesses so I could start running toward my strengths.
The realization burst through my mind in the blink of an eye, but the delay was still long enough to allow the tenacious alpha to emerge into view behind us. He was galloping flat out and I knew I had mere seconds before he’d be pounding on the hood of our car in human form.
Quetzalli was equally aware of the impending danger. But she’d chosen to ignore Big Mac rather than pushing me into a decision I wasn’t yet ready to make.
Only I was ready to choose the course of Quetzalli’s and Galena’s futures, and of my own as well. “Take a right,” I answered firmly, leading us back toward the pack that I knew would welcome us all like long-lost friends.
The relief I felt proved that I’d made the right decision. And as the car picked up speed, I resolved to incorporate Quetzalli’s wisdom into other parts of my life as well.
My wolf might be weak, but my human half could surely learn to make up for her shortcomings. In fact, if I put my mind to it, someday I might become as strong as the unique shifter riding in front of me.
Someday, I resolved, I too will be as tough as nails.
FEN’S ADVENTURE CONTINUES in Half Wolf, which you can download for free in the Shifter Origins box set. Or keep reading if you’d like to visit with some dragon shifters instead of wolves....
Biological Clock
I was selling clocks door to door when the vines appeared out of nowhere, rolling down the street like a crowd of kindergartners streaming out of school after the final bell tolls. I’ve lost my mind, I thought, squinching eyes shut and smoothing down my pencil skirt.
Perhaps it was hitting forty while lacking all potential reproductive outlets, but everything had started looking like babies lately. So when I opened my eyes, I wasn’t surprised to see that something else had materialized in front of the approaching tide of green.
Yep, that really was an egg approximately the size of my overweight tom cat.
I took a step closer, ignoring the screams that emanated from the other end of the block. A vine crept up the closest telephone pole, ripped wires free to spark against the ground.
I jumped, but stood my ground, staring fixedly at the tiny hole in the side of the golden orb. A beak pushed flakes of metallic shell aside one by one until a line of darkness nearly encircled the blunt end of the egg.
Then a beady eye peered out at me, watery with effort and hope.
My gut cramped with the realization that this was my baby. Okay, sure, so there were scales covering that emerging snout. Claws on the tiny feet scrabbling against the opening. And wings tucked tight against the being’s sodden back.
But, species aside, I was cradling the infant in my arms before I fully realized what was
happening. I was cupping it against my breast, not caring in the least that birth goo was ruining the breast of my favorite blouse.
I expected the dragon to struggle. After all, it was a wild animal...or a wild something. But there was intelligence in the tilt of its head. And as its chilled limbs warmed against mine, I could have sworn an emotion passed between us.
Understanding. Fellowship. Love.
Then fire streaked past my neck, singeing a vine that had crept upward while I was otherwise occupied. Ten more seconds and that plant would have strangled both me and my baby alive.
They were everywhere. Covering the pavement. Latching into my pantyhose. Standing up under their own volition and swaying like cobras as they attempted to reach the dragon.
I was no botanist, but I could clearly identify mean plants, ugly plants, and homicidal plants at a glance. Worse—every single one of those suckers wanted my baby dead.
“How about a little more flame?” I coaxed the dragonet. But safe in my embrace, it had already started snoring.
An overgrown rosebush took advantage of my distraction to reach for my wristwatch. I was almost out of time.
Time. Wait a minute. The floral invaders weren’t growing randomly. They were fixating on electricity.
Ignoring the grasping tendrils, I knelt and opened the case in which I kept my wares. Simple clocks, fancy clocks...ah, there we go.
Pulling out the device parents loved to hate, I powered it up. Flashing lights and whirling colors promised to teach infants the wonders of clockwork. As best I could tell, it mostly mesmerized the young and terrified the old.
Like babies, the vines were stupefied. Taking advantage of their distraction, I cupped my baby closer to my chest.
Then, leaving the destruction behind us, I ran.
Mop Magic
I couldn’t get down.
Below me, the Green stalked up the side of the Aerie, the voracious plants not quite able to reach the level where I lived and worked. Releasing my mop, I rested for a moment against the plate-glass window, tilting my head so I could peer down into the sea of vines.
Above, the Aerie’s masters soared on thermals, dancing and playing in the first warm day of spring. The dragon shifters were relentlessly kind to the unwinged, providing food, shelter, the only home I’d ever known.
But they couldn’t give me what I really wanted—the ability to fly.
“Daydreaming again?”
Samantha’s snide voice cut into my reverie and I flinched away from the blow I knew was coming. As expected, her hand struck out...but this time it only knocked my mop free to clatter against the damp floor tiles.
“The dragon lords will toss you out into the Green if you don’t start pulling your weight,” my nemesis huffed. She flicked long blond tresses back over one shoulder, standing with hip angled out so her curvaceous body was perfectly positioned to catch the eye of the dragons still frolicking on the other side of the glass.
Our dragon lords were young males, not much older than Samantha and myself. No wonder they swooped in closer to take a look at the display offered for their enjoyment. I could all but see them drool.
But I didn’t care, too taken with the glory of their flight. One hovered just beyond the window, sun glinting off his tightly stretched wings. I could almost feel the gust of air against my face as he beat upward and my stomach dipped in joyous sympathy.
“Well?” Samantha demanded without even glancing back. “The balcony on the opposite side of the building is full of filth. You’ll feel right at home there.”
When my feet remained frozen to the spot, she wasted one precious flirting moment to cast a heated glare over one shoulder. “Go.”
Stooping to collect my mop, I obeyed. Unlike the dragons outside, Samantha wasn’t my boss...but she definitely knew how to make my life unpleasant. Now, as always, I chose to give her a very wide berth.
At least out on the far balcony, I could feel the breeze flicking through my hair, even if I no longer saw the dragons spiraling through the sky. Smiling, I leaned out to scrub at a cobweb Samantha was sure to chide me for if left untouched.
Then, foot slipping, the mop wedged into a crack. Unexpected resistance tipped me off balance, twisted me around the fulcrum.
Screaming, I fell.
Air whooshed past, drying wide eyes and cooling grasping arms. The hungry plants would soon grab me, consume me. Or perhaps they’d miss and I’d shatter on leftover city pavement two hundred feet below.
Then frantic fingers found plummeting mop handle. Clutched, clung.
The air abruptly softened. Up? it asked.
Nodding, I flew.
IF YOU WANT MORE DRAGONS and witches, Incendiary Magic is currently free to download in the Shifter Origins box set.
Or keep reading for a semi-autobiographical short story written when I was first journeying into the world of urban fantasy.
Salamander in the Basement
Chapter 1
There was little to recommend the long drive home. “Come down for Easter,” Mom said, “I need you to clean out the basement.” Perhaps she’d known the task would attract me as the fetid odor of Skunk Cabbage blossoms attracts carrion-hunting flies.
The dark, moldering depths of the unfinished basement were below the house but accessible only through the outdoors. Inside were boxes of mildewed books, discarded garments, garden tools, ice skates—who knew what I’d find down there.
When I was younger, the basement had been a cool refuge from the heat of Tennessee summers. But I rarely went there. Only on the hottest days would I trade grass for dust, sun for the dim, uncovered bulb with its dangling metal-bead string.
Oh, we’d keep things there—winter clothes engulfed in black plastic trash bags would descend to the depths where Mom stashed them away in some odd corner, stacked on wooden pallets to stay off the dirt. Bushel boxes of apples and oranges were carted down by grudging children to chill in the cool; bowls of fruit were carried back up to the house amidst even more complaint.
Only Mom would descend to putter, to shift the bags and move boxes around.
“Do you have a copy of The Plague?” I’d say. “I need it for school.”
“Of course,” she answered. “Do you need it right away?”
Invariably, the answer would be yes. And down she’d go to rummage, returning an hour or more later, dirt-smudged but triumphant. The book would release its basement mold slowly, missing the dark.
Once or twice we were granted hints of the basement’s malevolence. A cat would disappear for hours, only to be discovered at meal time meowing at the inside of the locked door. And I would dream about the basement sometimes, about the walk down the hill outside the house to the raised doorway, so hard to lift a lawn mower through. In my dream I’d dance down the hill and step off the stone as I’ve done a thousand times before...then not hit bottom. Falling, I’d wake.
But everyone dreams of falling sometimes.
“I can’t come down for Easter,” I told my mother, standing at an open window and eying a phoebe newly flown north from Florida. It bobbed its tail on the branch just outside my window and I strengthened my resolve. “The wildflowers will be at their peak, the frogs are already calling. Bird migration....”
My voice trailed off. I thought of the basement—Mom’s mysterious domain—and I breathed out gently through my nose. “Can I come earlier? Next week before spring gets too far along?”
Five days later I was home. “I can only stay until Monday,” I told her. I wouldn’t be able to clean the entire basement in that time, but at least I could make a start at it, shift a few boxes to make room for more, throw out this and that.
I descended that first afternoon, but the piles were daunting and precarious to my tired hands’ touch. After a bag of winter clothes toppled onto me from behind, I gave it up and spent the evening frogging instead. We drove to a nearby pond and shone flashlights on wood frogs, their neck pouches ballooning as they floated and called from
the pond’s center. The basement was forgotten...for now.
Chapter 2
“You don’t have to go down there today,” Mom urged during breakfast. I frowned at her over a slice of cold apple pie. What had I come home for if not to tackle the laden basement?
“We could go out in the country instead. See which frogs are there....” she tempted.
“This afternoon, maybe,” I replied, attracted by the reprise of the cold-blooded singers but unwilling to forgo my task. “I want to see what I can get done this morning.”
Back in the basement, I decided to go about it methodically. A bag for Goodwill donations, another for trash. A box for Mom to go through, full of lone wooden clogs, cracked doll heads, and other items with less than obvious personal significance. Stacks of books and fabric and yarn. My own old boxes I sifted through ferociously, pulling out old paperwork and odds and ends to feed the garbage bin.
The job was easy at first. Lone socks hit the trash bag; empty jars and bottles of all sorts were set aside to be recycled. I held up an old pair of my underpants with holes large enough to pass my fist through and decided that Mom had plenty of rags without this ignoble addition.
But as time passed, the dim basement light awoke my hoarding instinct. What lovely cloth, I thought, spreading a sparkling bolt of fabric between outstretched fingers. Surely I’ll use that at some point....
Shocked by my own thoughts, I dropped the bolt and stomped on it until floor dust hid its sparkles. All of those empty shampoo bottles could come in handy some day too, I berated myself. When pigs fly!
Clambering out over the raised lip of the door, I squinted into the sunlight. “Alright, Mom, I’m ready for a break! We can go as soon as I grab my binoculars.”
Thirteenth Werewolf and Other Stories Page 5