Who fuckin’ cares what old XYZ says?
He changed course and drew nearer. Among the trees was the bright illumination of the construction site. He’d been drawn to this place again, perhaps to smell what remained of their last victim.
Sheriff Arnow was leaving the security guard’s trailer.
Tef smelled the fear on him.
The gray wolf silently approached the tree line. The pines became less dense, and he slipped between them more easily. He kept his eyes on the cop, let them burn into him.
And the cop could sense him, Tef knew. The scent of the cop’s fear was as sharp as an arrow.
Tef grinned when the cop’s hand went to his holster. He rustled the undergrowth intentionally, just to rattle the old guy’s cage.
The sheriff jumped but held his ground. His legs may have wanted to run, but his pride held him. If he ran, Tef would parallel him from within the woods, feeding his quarry’s fear with the sounds of pursuit.
Tef would have left him alive. Tannhauser was a boring Alpha, but he was still in charge, and Tef wasn’t sure he was strong enough to take him. Not with Schwartz in the way.
Yet.
Tef shadowed the sheriff a while, enjoying the power. Causing fear was his greatest thrill.
The sheriff didn’t break and run, and Tef felt disappointment.
He aborted the shadowing and loped off into the thicker portion of this branch of the forest. When he was far enough, he stopped and howled. Tef hoped the cop pissed himself on that one. Tannhauser would scold him. But Tef didn’t care. He’d laid off the cop.
For the moment.
Now, on to the night’s business.
Jessie
She lay back, naked in the musky, sex-laden air in front of the fireplace and watched Nick as he padded toward the door. She admired his nakedness, feeling a lingering tingle after their heated lovemaking. He’d told her early on that he was in his late forties, but the werewolf gene (he still called it a “curse”) apparently slowed normal aging. He looked thirty-five at most. He wore his dark hair longer than average, giving him a rebellious look. His lean muscles rippled in the soft firelight. She imagined what they looked like when he was the wolf. She was awed by the beauty of the image.
“Do you have to go?” She knew the answer.
“I can barely control the Change, keep it from just grabbing me,” he said, smiling sadly. “It’s because of you I’ve been able to hold it at bay this long.”
He returned from the door and placed a hand on her cheek.
For them, silence was often a conversation. A single word, paragraphs.
He turned away again, restless.
“Be careful,” she said, as he slid open the door.
He turned to look at her, and her heart leaped.
His eyes glowed like tongues of fire in the flickering light.
Then he was gone, out into the night.
She stood quickly to watch him run. He was a beautiful human bathed in the silvery moonlight, but before he reached the tree line he had become the huge black wolf she remembered so well. It—he—disappeared, swallowed by the darkness between the pines.
The howl, when it came, gave her a shiver.
Staring into the woods, the shiver turned into a full-fledged chill, and she slid the door closed.
Arnow
Sabin’s words ringing in his ears, he started back toward his squad car. Why had he parked so far away?
He heard the trailer door get locked and double bolted from the inside. Clearly, Sabin was spooked. And he didn’t look the type.
Arnow kept an eye on the trees. The damn trees were too close, an impenetrable thick-marker line that bordered the whole site. Clearing this space had been some job, but the number of trees left standing like silent sentinels was awe inspiring. But he didn’t feel awe at the moment.
He was halfway to his vehicle when he heard the rustling behind him. Something moving in the undergrowth.
Something large but stealthy.
Something that wanted to be heard.
Arnow picked up his pace, keeping his head tilted toward the sounds. He would not run, but his legs almost betrayed him.
He unsnapped the holster and kept his hand near the Glock 17. Small comfort.
The rustling paced him, stirring close to the trees but just enough inside the darkness to remain invisible.
With every step, the hair on Arnow’s neck and arms stood up straighter. He felt feral eyes raking him from top to bottom, mea sur ing.
Had he racked the Glock’s slide?
No, it would cost him precious seconds to chamber a round.
His legs unsteady, he reached his car. Fumbled the keys at first, then climbed in. For some reason, he felt the need to let his watcher know he was unafraid. Once inside, he slid the Glock out and placed it on his lap. He turned the key and stared out at the trees. Not feeling any safer, but slightly more in control.
A long howl split the eve ning quiet, and his hair stood on end again. The cry receded, moving away into the heart of the pines. Arnow’s hands trembled, and he grasped the wheel to steady them.
He nosed the car toward the road, then sped up and headed home. Wondering whether the thing out there—a wolf?—was still pacing him. Feeling certain that it was running alongside the car with long, easy strides.
Arnow realized he’d stopped breathing only when the gasp exploded from his mouth. He sucked in air greedily, straightened the wheels, and tried to ignore the feel of eyes boring into his neck.
Prey: Hector Sandy
The front door slammed with the appropriate violent bang.
Dammit, that woman drives me crazy.
Hector had wanted to discuss the crisis faced by the council, but all she wanted to do was talk about her job in the rez clinic. Some complaint that a few days a month her boss just seemed to disappear, leaving her already stretched staff to cover for her while she went off to do whatever it was she did. Ellie was truly on the warpath about it.
Okay, he had finally agreed. I’ll mention it to the council when I get a chance. They’ll ask you to fill out a complaint form.
Everything was a form, a survey, a focus group with the council.
Ellie had been somewhat mollified, but dinner was ruined as far as he was concerned. She complained about everything these days. He stalked out of the kitchen, found a jacket in the front closet, and headed out with that satisfying slam.
Let Ellie wonder about that.
He wanted some sympathy once in a while. She always expected sympathy from him, why couldn’t he get some from her? The council was fracturing. That damned casino complex. He wished he had voted against it like that idiot Waters begged him. The casino would just bring them different, more complicated problems.
But it was too late to change his vote now.
He had sensed some wavering on the part of the council. The Blackthorn death had sent a shiver through everyone. Was it an animal attack or a murder? Animal attacks were almost unheard of since the turn of the century. So it followed that somebody with a grudge had tailed Blackthorn from the big city and punched his ticket.
Or maybe somebody from here.
But who? And why?
The thought angered him. This tiny place had always seemed like paradise, but lately things were spinning out of control.
Hector puffed as he walked, a product of the sedentary life. He had been walking more often lately, leaving his comfortable couch and nice television for some quality nature time. Time away from Ellie and her constant bitching.
Now he found that he enjoyed the brisk walking, the cool eve ning air coursing in and out of his lungs. Before he knew it, he’d walked a mile from home. The woods seemed to encroach on the cracked asphalt of the roadway, making a narrowing tunnel. He’d never noticed how dark it could get after dusk, with hardly any streetlights and only the occasional hidden-away porch light to mark his way. Houses in this area were all tucked into groves and folded into stands of jack pines u
ntil they faded from view.
He’d never noticed how frightening the woods could be.
Ridiculous!
I’ve lived here most of my life. Never been afraid of the woods.
Not going to start now.
He went over Ellie’s complaining tonight and let it make him mad all over again. Maybe she had a good case. The rez doctor shouldn’t just disappear every few weeks and leave all the work for her staff, of course, but was Ellie exaggerating? He liked Dr. Hawkins. Hell, they all did. He was willing to cut her some slack.
Maybe because of how great she looked?
Ellie had almost accused him of having a woody for that young doctor.
Well, maybe he did kind of.
He muttered to himself. So what if he found Hawkins attractive? Just because he was getting on in age didn’t mean he was no longer aware of beauty.
When he heard the underbrush part behind him, he turned with the hope that he would see a family of deer cross the road.
Instead he uttered a croaking scream.
He had no time for more than that, because the three dark shapes with bared fangs were upon him in a split second.
One went for his throat, the other his belly, and the third ripped into his flailing arms.
Hector died with the image of Ellie screaming at him locked in his head.
She’d probably be screaming at me now, watching me let these animals eat me alive.
Then he thought no more.
Arnow
His Glock in hand and cocked, he edged his way from the relative safety of the squad car to his front door. He fumbled his keys again, trying to keep an eye on his surroundings. His hands still trembled.
He wasn’t used to that.
Arnow swore as the keys slid through his grasp like useless tiddlywinks. He heard his breath loudly in his ears.
His back was to the tree line and, suddenly, what had been one of his favorite aspects of the new home became something to fear. The branches rustled high up, but the rustles that frightened him were from down below, making their way through the underbrush. Movement where there shouldn’t have been any. A deer? Rabbit?
Something else?
His fingers finally grasped the right key in the correct direction and slid it home, and he was through the door, swinging around and panning the woods with the Glock, convinced he’d been followed.
There was nothing—no one—there. That he could see.
The rustling receded.
Was that mocking laughter he heard?
Arnow slammed the door shut, double bolted it, engaged the chain and set the alarm, then wiped sweat off his forehead.
He went to his gun cabinet and methodically loaded the Remington pump shotgun with 12-gauge bear loads and the Ruger Mini-14 with a ten-round clip of military 5.56mm ball ammo.
Only then did he feel safer.
His hands still shook, but he managed to pour himself a drink.
Lupo
He ran on two legs, and the moonlight reached down for him and he was over, just like that, thankful for the painless transformation. And for his increasing confidence in his ability to control the realignment of his DNA. The Change that once claimed him without his choice had become a tool to be used with discretion and responsibility. Now he was loping on gigantic lupine paws. His nostrils filled with an infusion of forest smells.
He and Jessie had made long, lingering love in front of the roaring, snapping fire, and their passions had increased until he thought the touch of her flesh enveloping his would consume him. Where they bonded, where he reached deep inside her, it seemed the connection was forged from molten fire. They had devoured each other with their eyes, their mouths, their fingers, and even their toes, wrapped in a shifting embrace, tasting here, nipping there, thrusting, and receiving until the fire had exploded inside them. Then they had rested in each other’s arms, nuzzling.
When the second wave of passion swept in and claimed them, it had almost surprised them with its intensity. She had suddenly taken him in her mouth and brought him back to the brink, back to where she needed him to be so that he could mount her and take her from behind as she watched the sparks in the fireplace twirl and sizzle like tiny shooting stars. He was engorged with renewed desire, and she wanted him deep and long. They had found their rhythm and become enslaved by it.
The end had been more explosive than before, drawing loud cries from them both. The fire in the hearth had begun to die then, as if they had robbed its energy and turned the logs into embers too soon.
Now he loped on four strong legs, his giant paws barely touching the forest floor, the scents of the forest exploding in his brain like grenades, and the moon singing its song to him.
The scent of Jessie’s sex sweat lingered with him. He was grateful he had finally learned to keep Nick Lupo aware and alert within the Creature, which still tended to be a slave of instinct, but which had increasingly come to obey his human wishes and commands. Thus, Lupo luxuriated in the afterglow of his lovemaking, and the Creature understood and agreed.
But now it wanted food.
He tracked the scent of a rabbit, stalked the shocked animal upwind and pounced, soon enjoying his meal with abandon.
Then he ran and felt the night air wrap him in its comfort. It had taken years, but he had finally found the joy of freedom his condition could bring. He slowed to mark his territory, a formality since it had all been his territory, but he stopped when his nose caught a scent that made his hackles rise.
No, it was more than one scent. How many? Two, three?
Not human.
Not quite animal.
They seemed to crisscross the path, heading in different directions.
Inside the Creature, Lupo considered where he was. He sensed that he had come some miles from Jessie’s cottages. In fact, he was now on reservation land, and there were other scents present. Construction site smells, the Port-a-Johns used by the crews, the many lunch buckets, the stale sweat of men involved in hard labor.
And then there were the scents he held in his nostrils now, those that raised an unintentional growl from his throat.
He peered through the trees and saw that he was near the construction site. A trailer stood silent, locked up, its occupant afraid. Armed. He smelled gun oil and ammunition.
Then the howling began and went on and on.
A pack celebrating its kill.
A pack.
Stepping cautiously, the Creature held its nose in the air and caught the confusion of scents. It was strong, but could it best a whole pack?
The part of the Creature that was Lupo counseled caution.
He followed the trail of one scent, but soon lost it as if the wolf had ceased to be. A human scent arose in its stead.
The Creature growled. Lupo knew what it meant.
Werewolves.
He was not alone.
The realization shook him to the core.
Schwartz
They met as Tannhauser had instructed and galloped a short distance to where he had been watching the log-cabin home of the new target.
“This one walks at night,” he had told them in their usual briefing. “He should be easy.”
Schwartz had grinned at the thought of easy prey. Sometimes it was fun to give chase, but an easy meal brought its own rewards.
Tannhauser reiterated their mission.
“We’re making this one as messy as the other. The message has to be clear. Fate is stalking these council members, and they are all marked. Our employer assures me the way is clear for us to continue our campaign.”
“Cool! Now let’s get going!”
Tef’s outburst brought a frown from Alpha.
“Please observe protocol. I’m ranking officer and Alpha. I will determine when we ‘get going.’”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Tef’s anti-authority campaign had begun to grate on Schwartz, too. Tannhauser would only tolerate so much insubordination. Schwartz knew he was expected to
back up Alpha in such a situation.
They’d finished up the briefing as Alpha wanted it and had separated to limber their muscles, work up their appetites, and just enjoy their wolfskins.
Now together, they stalked the prey, who walked along the darkened road, muttering to himself, unaware of their shadows pacing him from the shelter of the woods.
When they broke cover and pounced, the old man was turning around, a half smile frozen on his face.
There’s a lot to be said for easy prey, Schwartz thought. Less fear kept the blood and flesh tastier because there was no injection of bitter adrenaline.
The pack enjoyed its cheap and easy meal.
What they left wouldn’t feed a baby coyote.
They howled their pleasure, blood dripping from wet snouts.
Mr. XYZ
The moon was out and it annoyed him, because you never knew when somebody would spot your silhouette from somewhere fuck-all far away.
He parked his dark SUV and doused the lights, then popped the rear door and looked around once before leaning into the cargo space. The long, heavy vinyl bag slid out with a little effort, bending when he swung it over his shoulder. He carried it to the edge of the black pond and lay it none too gently on top of some marsh grasses that flattened under it. The bag was one of those newfangled zippered Christmas tree storage bags, perfect for his purposes.
He stalked back to the open SUV and tossed the chain lengths and padlocks onto the ground. There were four, and he hefted them over his shoulder with a grunt and transferred them to where the bag lay with its silent cargo.
After a few wraps of chain around the vinyl, he secured the chains to the heavy-duty black handles with the padlocks. He worked quickly and efficiently, well practiced and well prepared.
He straightened, wiped a stray bit of sweaty hair from his forehead, then dragged the bag—much heavier now—to the tiny peninsular protrusion into the dark, oily water. He pulled and pushed the bag until it was positioned just right. Then he rolled it over the grassy lip and watched it make a ripple before beginning to sag where the chains weighed it down. Bubbles burst from the slits in the vinyl as it rolled over again, dragged down by the weight, and disappearing with a fartlike sound that put a period to the whole thing.
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