Wild Refuge: A Yellowstone Shifters Novel

by K. Panikian

  I cleared my throat. “I wanted to talk to you in person.”

  Nick nodded, his face relaxing, and my chest hurt. I’d lied to him again.

  “Are you doing okay?” he asked. “That’s the second dead body you’ve found.”

  He pulled me in for a hug and I shook my head, trying to avoid thinking about the bloody, open ribcage that appeared every time I closed my eyes, and scraped out, “I’m fine. What’s the latest on the investigation?”

  Nick opened his notes and lined them up on my coffee table. He’d gotten used to sharing information with me. I was full of curiosity about his police duties, parsing through whatever he shared to think about how it would affect the shifters in the park. The scene of the two of us huddled on my couch over his investigation records had become very familiar.

  I leaned into his shoulder, feeling a closeness to him that transcended my wild nature. He brushed back my hair, cupping my neck. My chest hurt again.

  “The deceased, Daniel Hill, was a volunteer with the Youth Conservation Corps.”

  I drew back, my mind blanking. That was the organization I’d volunteered with in college. Oh no, I thought.

  Nick paused, looking at me concernedly, and I waved him on with a weak hand.

  “He was eighteen years old.”

  I swallowed audibly, my heart breaking. The poor kid.

  “He was stationed at Old Faithful, repairing the boardwalks and building signs. He stayed in the volunteer dorm there. His roommate, Mike Boyle, says he drove off two days ago and that’s it, he never saw him again.”

  Nick continued, his voice low and serious. “The body is still being autopsied, obviously, but it’s a murder. He’s got a bullet in his stomach and it’s not from a handgun—it looks like a rifle bullet.”

  “Maybe a hunting accident?”

  Nick shrugged. “Maybe. It’s elk and deer season. He wasn’t dressed like he was hunting though, in those dark colors.”

  I thought about the green shirt I’d seen in the bloody pine needles and shivered. Daniel hadn’t been in his elk form when he was shot, unless he shifted back and dressed himself as he bled out. Unlikely.

  Nick checked his notes again. “There’s no one listed on his emergency contacts. We’re trying to dig into that, find family, maybe.”

  I agreed but I doubted Nick would find anything. Daniel had probably been alone in the world. You didn’t end up a shifter in a national park if you had a happy home life.

  “The south entrance gatekeepers marked his car heading toward Jackson two days ago. But Everett says he never made it down there.”

  Everett Palmer was Nick’s friend and the Chief of Police in Jackson, the biggest town directly south of the park. The town that August also claimed. Did Daniel really never make it to town, or did something happen with August’s pack that diverted him?

  “Somehow, he ended up in the Caribou-Targhee National Forest,” Nick continued, showing me the map. The forest lay directly in between Jackson Hole and West Yellowstone. “His car’s at the trailhead here,” Nick pointed, “and there’s an obvious blood trail from the forest, north and west to the park where it intercepts your backcountry trail.”

  I traced the route with my finger. He’d made it a long way, wounded and bleeding. Why was he so determined to get back to the park? Had he been delirious, thinking only of the safety of the unclaimed territory? Or did he have a purpose?

  Why would someone shoot an elk shifter? Had he been involved with something illegal? Or was it an accident?

  “Do we know if he’d been in that area before?” I asked. “What did he usually do on his days off?”

  Nick bent his head to his notes. “Boyle said he was pretty unsocial. They didn’t hang out. He did say that Daniel liked to visit the Elk Refuge in Jackson. Here.” He tapped the map again and I saw the sprawling green space in the valley of Jackson Hole.

  “Elk Refuge?” I asked.

  “It’s different from a national park or a national forest,” Nick said. “Its mission is less recreation and more conservation.”

  “But it’s federal land?” I persisted. I wondered where the refuge fell in the shifter territory rules. The alphas and packs had to stay out of national park and national forest lands. I didn’t know about refuge lands. Had Daniel strayed into pack territory and been punished?

  “Yes, it’s federal land,” Nick said. “It’s run by the Fish and Wildlife Service though, not the National Park Service or the Forest Service. It has wildlife managers, not rangers.”

  I stared into space absently, tapping my chin. I’d have to ask Jordan or Darcy about the shifter rules for refuges, I decided. Or I could ask August? I quashed that idea.

  I ran through the woods, my puma legs lean and muscled, my paws silent on the pine needle floor. The cloudy night sky darkened the forest around me, but my keen vision traced the scurrying path of the jackrabbit. I pounced, catching it in my claws as I bit down hard at its neck, killing it instantly.

  I ripped it open with a long tear of my claws and devoured the warm, juicy insides in two quick bites, then buried the rest of the carcass under the leaves—I wouldn’t be back for it, but instincts were hard to ignore.

  With a great leap, I scrambled up a nearby tree and paced along its thick branches. I was eager to get to my destination, now that my puma was sated. Staying in the treetops, I headed south along the lakeshore until I reached a rocky hillside. Gathering myself, I jumped from my branch to the top of an enormous boulder.

  In a gray flash, I scrambled up the slope behind it, my paws skittering on the steep sides before I slipped into the cave. I’d found it completely by chance two months ago during a full moon roam, and now I was a regular visitor. It was the perfect size and completely isolated. On top of the stony slope, I had clear sight lines all around to know if anyone approached.

  I paused inside the entrance for a long moment, sniffing the breeze and inspecting the dark landscape, before I stepped the rest of the way into the blackness. I tread softly along the cave’s pebbly floor, my eyes finding the barest traces of light, until I padded into an alcove with a hole in its roof, high above me. Through it the stars gleamed as my vision brightened.

  I stood in the center of the space and shuddered, stretching my senses deep inside. I reached past the puma to the core of my wild self—my primal soul—my Beast. And I surrendered to it.

  In a ripping transformation of snapping bones and stretching muscles, of hot pain and delicious chills, I grew until loomed tall in the dim cave—tall and also hulking. My massive body, neither puma nor human but a hybrid powerful combination of both, swelled with corded muscles. The daggerlike teeth in my short snout gleamed as I flexed my long, sharp claws. My breath started coming in pants as an exquisite rage hazed through my brain. I wanted to scream my release but pulled back. I was in a secret place, I reminded myself. No screaming.

  I held the form, testing my control. Even after months of training myself to shift to my third form at will, it still shocked me that I could control it. Since I was twelve and transformed into it unknowingly in response to an attack, I’d been scared of my Beast. I’d hidden from it, and from my puma, for all of my shifter life.

  Now though, I’d moved past my fears. The Beast was a part of me, one-third of my soul.

  So, I hid where no one could see me and I transformed into my most savage self—the part of me that raged all of the time—and I practiced channeling that rage. I gave it an outlet—in a flurry of lightning-fast movements, I leaped and spun around the cave. I kicked, slashed, and bit, fighting invisible opponents. I moved for hours, testing my muscles, my speed, my agility, and my strength—they were boundless.

  My blood sang as I moved and as the chorus rose higher and higher, I strengthened my control. I didn’t give in to the savage song, but oh, how it tormented me with its secret melody—to seek, to fight, to claim, to rend...

  Outside of the cave it started to thunder.

  Chapter 4

 
It started with a spark. The spark fell into the bed of brown leaves and sticks, carefully piled at the base of the dried-out husk of a dead lodgepole pine. It dropped into the pile, a golden firefly, and vanished. For a long moment, nothing happened, until a wisp of black smoke seeped from the leafy bed. Then, in a sharp crackle, the fire appeared. With orange and yellow flames, it raced quickly up the trunk of the dead tree and engulfed the crown. From there, myriad sparks spun wildly in the air, alighting nearby dry pines and brown branches. The fire grew, quickly feeding on the forest’s old, dead growth—years of accumulated brush and leaves ignited in a whirlwind of flames and smoke.

  When the fire reached the bodies, it began to roar.

  MY vibrating phone woke me up way earlier than I expected. I groaned, pulling the pillow over my head. I’d only just gotten to bed after my late-night roam as both my puma and my Beast. I’d showered off the mud from the sudden rainstorm and fallen into my bed—I checked the time—two hours ago. I groaned again.

  My phone beeped with a message and I dragged it slowly to my pillow, hitting the speaker button.

  “Sienna, sorry to call so early, this is Melanie. There’s a fire near the southern border of the park. I know it’s your morning off but we need all hands on deck, directing traffic through the smoke and pulling out any backcountry campers. Please let me know you’ve received this message and you’re on your way in.”

  Melanie was my boss—there would be no ignoring her summons. I scrubbed my face briskly as I sat up and cleared my throat a few times before calling her back.

  After I stumbled down the hall to my little kitchen to start some coffee, I stumbled back to my bedroom and dressed in my ranger uniform.

  I knew that the fire management program in Yellowstone preferred to let naturally occurring fires burn on their own with minimal interference, so the storm a few hours earlier must have involved lightning in the southern portion of the park.

  A fist pounded at my front door and I opened it to Jordan’s bright-eyed face. “Morning!” she chirped. “Ooh, coffee, perfect.”

  From my couch I watched her fill a cup while I laced up my boots. My eyes felt gritty in my skull as I blinked slowly at her.

  She cocked her head, watching me fumble. “Late night?”

  Jordan was one of only two other people in the world that knew about my Beast. She’d been my trail partner when I first started working at Yellowstone and I hadn’t lasted long before I confessed my whole confused existence to her, looking for help. After her initial bewilderment and hesitance, she’d become my closest friend.

  “I was in the cave,” I said, “practicing.”

  Jordan nodded. “Good.” And that was it. That was all she’d say on the subject of my Beast. She knew that if even a breath of a rumor about my hybrid form reached the packs, I’d be hunted, so we never talked about it anywhere someone could overhear.

  Just a little bit shorter than me, Jordan had her blond hair already pony-tailed, her ranger hat on, and her uniform looked pristine. I, on the other hand, needed to do laundry and it showed. I tucked my own long, dark hair up and out of the way before gesturing to the door.

  Jordan drove us to the ranger station and we joined the groups picking up traffic vests and radios. Melanie waved us over to her side and said, “Put those vests back, ladies. There are two groups of campers in the fire zone. Tara and Jack,” she pointed to two rangers climbing into a Park Service truck, “are getting the ones on the Bechler River. You two,” she pointed at Jordan and me, “are going after the group at Union Falls.”

  Jordan straightened her hat. “I know that trail, no problem.” She turned to me to add, “It’s about fifteen miles to get to the tent site, but if there’s smoke in the air, they may already be hiking out.”

  I agreed. “Hopefully.”

  Melanie continued, “Right now the fire is near the Lower Boundary Creek and Cave Falls area. That’s only about six miles cross-country from where the campers are. If you’re hiking in and the smoke gets too thick, or you hear or see signs of the fire, you turn around immediately and get out of the area. Radio me and I’ll see if I can get a helicopter to the campsite instead. I’ll contact you if the fire starts moving fast. Right now, it’s heading west, away from the campsite, but if the wind changes, please pay attention.”

  She glared at us, her mouth pursed. “Be careful, Rangers.”

  I quelled the itch to salute and followed Jordan to her truck.

  We drove south to the Pitchstone Trailhead and parked. To the west I saw dark gray clouds high in the air and the smoke on the breeze made my nose itch. Jordan handed me my pack and we loaded up some water bottles and first aid kits, just in case, before starting to hike. The September sun blazed, setting the autumn colors in the meadows aglow in gold and burgundy.

  I kept my eyes on the smoky clouds as we headed in their direction. They boiled above the foothills in a churning mass. I clenched my fingers briefly as my puma pushed me to turn around to head away from the fire.

  “Don’t worry,” Jordan said, noticing my nervousness. “We’ll be in and out long before the fire gets close. The wind is still blowing west, away from us.”

  I nodded, relaxing a little. I lengthened my stride—we had a long way to go. Jordan jogged a little beside me and I slowed again, smirking at her.

  A field of fumaroles steamed beside the trail, sending rotten egg scents to swirl on the breeze. My puma senses caught the sounds of bubbling hot springs under the surface, snapping and hissing.

  “We usually get a handful of fires through the summer season, and then a few more in the fall. But it was such a wet summer, I didn’t hear of any of them burning that big this year,” Jordan said. “There’s a Fire Lookout right near the Lower Boundary Creek, so we caught this one early.”

  She cleared her throat. “Mark, he’s the ranger that called it in, told me that there were no lightning strikes recorded last night in his zone.”

  I cocked my head, considering. “You think it’s not a natural fire?” I thought again about the route that Daniel staggered to find his way back to the park. It meandered near the fire’s location, but not through it. Is that suspicious? Or a coincidence?

  “There’s too much backcountry for us to patrol regularly,” Jordan said. “Sometimes I’ll run across people who’ve snuck into the park and are just camping around, on their own, with no permits. If one of them started the fire by accident, that could be the cause.” She quickened her pace again to keep up with me.

  “Or,” she pointed at me, “it could have something to do with that elk shifter you found.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Nick’s got no leads so far. We don’t know what he was doing down near Jackson or why he walked all the way back to the park, instead of finding help.”

  “When shifters get hurt,” Jordan said, “our natural instincts tend to take over. His elk would have been directing him to hide, to find shelter, to not draw attention to himself.”

  I adjusted my pack. That made sense, sort of. I tried not to think of the man, bleeding to death and walking deeper and deeper into the wilderness, mindless to everything but his animal’s pain. I swallowed.

  “What’s the deal with the wildlife refuge in Jackson?” I asked. “Daniel’s roommate said he liked to hang out there.”

  “The Elk Refuge?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s a pretty cool place. You can hike around and see the animals. They allow hunting there, too, as part of their wildlife management program, but only the elk and bison,” Jordan said. “I haven’t been down there in years though. It’s too close to August’s territory for me.”

  “How do the shifter packs see the federal refuges?” I persisted. “Are they off limits, like the parks and national forests?”

  Jordan frowned and my heart sank. “So the alphas who agreed to the treaty a hundred years ago? They were really vague. If you read it, you can tell that a lot of them were just signing their names with no intention of following the agreemen
t. The fact that the federal parks and the forests are still off-limit is thanks to only a couple of strong alphas that have held firm. Some of the parks and forests are regularly violated, and no one does anything.”

  I nodded, remembering what August told me.

  “Whether or not a federal refuge can be claimed? I would assume, right now, that you can’t make any assumptions. If Daniel was in the refuge when someone attacked him, I don’t know where shifter law would stand.”

  I gulped. That was more or less what I expected to hear. Still, it was a blow. If Daniel was running loose in August’s territory, shifter law said August would have every right to discipline, or even kill him. But Nick’s evidence showed that Daniel never made it to Jackson, so maybe the refuge wasn’t even involved? Still, someone shot Daniel and no one had taken responsibility. That didn’t sound like shifter discipline to me.

  We continued moving at a quick pace along the trail and after about six miles, I was relieved to see figures hiking toward us.

  “The campers,” Jordan breathed. “Whew.”

  On the western horizon the gray smoke clouds still loomed, though they’d moved no closer.

  We signaled to them and when we met up, collected names and reported to Melanie that we had our crew.

  “Roger that. Report from the Fire Lookout is that the blaze is still moving west. The smokejumpers are predicting that when it hits the Bechler River, it’ll die.”

  I blew out a puff of air, relieved. As Jordan organized the camper crew, my brain worked. I checked the time on my phone before looking at my friend speculatively under the brim of my ranger hat.

  She moved next to me and murmured. “You’ve got four hours. I’ll walk this group back to the trailhead and we’ll go pretty slowly.” Her eyes landed on the corpulent patriarch of the group that, with a red face, was currently demanding a Band-Aid for his blisters. “You have to be with us when we hit the trailhead. Don’t be late.”