Tamed had me so eager to see what would happen next I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough. Tamed is a whole new take on a werewolf story with humans being the true monsters. Douglas Brown has written a book so good, I read it in a single sitting and wanted to go back for more.
~Scott Poe, indiebookblogger.blogspot.com
Published by Rhemalda Publishing
P.O. Box 2912
Wenatchee, WA 98801
http://www.rhemalda.com
TAMED
Copyright © 2012 Douglas R. Brown
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any mean without prior permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover art by Melissa Williams
http://mwcoverdesign.blogspot.com/
Visit author Douglas R. Brown on the Web at http://epertase.blogspot.com
Books by Douglas R. Brown
The Light of Epertase: Legends Reborn - August 2011
The Light of Epertase: A Kingdom’s Fall - August 2012
The Light of Epertase: The Rise of Cridon - August 2013
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
IN addition to being an author, I am also a firefighter/ paramedic. I began writing several years ago as a way to cope with the single most devastating emergency call of my career. In the months after that call, I wrote about the little boy who died in front of me, along with every sad and emotional call I had been a part of during my seventeen years in the fire service. I didn’t realize it at the time, but writing about those tragedies sent me deep into a darker place than I had ever imagined. Only now, looking back on that time, do I see what I descended into.
When I finished writing my fire department memoir, I wanted to continue telling stories, but I didn’t like what I had been writing about. With that knowledge, I gravitated toward a genre that I have always enjoyed—fantasy.
The reason I tell you this is because it directly relates to my acknowledgments for this book. I want to thank my family and friends for staying by my side and supporting me while I was in that dark place. My wife, Angie, and son, Aiden. My mother, Lillian. My friends, Matt, Mick, Cory and Aimee, Bryan and Kara, Sean and Helena. My cousin, Greg. My sister, Amie, and brother, Brian. My firefighter brothers at Station 22. You were there for me, and for that I thank you. I am an author now because of your strength.
Thank you, Breanne Rowe, for your friendship and for steering me in the right direction again and again.
Thank you, Bobbe Ecleberry, for teaching me so much and never getting tired of helping your pestering nephew. You are truly a talent.
Thank you, Jeff Stanforth, Amy Penrose, Sean Wooten, my mother, my wife, and my aunt, for reading Tamed in its infancy. What you now hold in your hands is a direct result of your unselfish help throughout the process.
Thank you, Steve Murphy, for everything you do. You’re not just an artist, but a true friend.
Thank you, everyone on Columbus Fire for your support.
Thank you, Lona Davis, for being such a wonderful and supportive grandmother.
Thank you, reviewers of The Light of Epertase: Legends Reborn. I appreciate all of the kind words, and even the occasional not-so-kind ones.
Thank you, as always, Rhemalda, for being an incredible publisher. Let’s “sell some books.”
Thank you, Melissa Williams, for such an awesome cover. I love it.
Thank you, Diane Dalton for your brilliance as an editor and the time you’ve dedicated to this story.
And thank you, everyone who reads this book.
Here’s to many more years of entertainment.
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http://epertase.blogspot.com
To the love of my life, I dedicate Tamed. For twenty years you have been my world. I love you, Angie. Now and forever.
TAMED
DOUGLAS R. BROWN
Rhemalda Publishing
Contents
1. Fortunes Begin
2. Dog Fight
3. Christine
4. Trust Your Instincts
5. Defective
6. Nevets Day One
7. Coyote Lies
8. Aiden’s First “Dog”
9. Rogue Hunters
10. Nevets Day Two
11. A Changing World
12. Nevets Day Three
13. Back to the Grind
14. Nevets Day Four
15. Nevets Day Five
16. Changes
17. Nevets Day Six
18. Steven Day Seven
19. Sic ’Er
20. Rogue Hunting
21. Killer’s Remorse
22. Tale of Another Time
23. Senator Wooten
24. Friend or Foe
25. Surprise
26. A Curse for a Life
27. A Taste of What They Want
28. Party Preparations
29. The Expeditioners
30. Dinner
31. The Ultimate Trust Betrayed
32. Unleashed
33. Recall
34. Trapped
35. Savage Defense
36. A Sheep Among Wolves
37. Better Odds
38. A Chance At Redemption
39. A Soul Saved
40. A Snake Escapes
41. A High Price for Freedom
42. Sometimes Secrets Need Keeping
43. Sparks of Normalcy
44. A New Venture Begins?
45. Reunion
TAMED
IN THE YEAR 10,000 B.C.E., THE DOG WAS
DOMESTICATED BY MAN.
12,000 YEARS LATER, THE WEREWOLVES
GET THEIR TURN.
1
FORTUNES BEGIN
1982
BERNARD Henderson was fresh out of college with a business degree and a mind full of drive. His helicopter touched down on the beach of a remote, little-known island off the coast of Costa Rica. Joining him was a team of eight mercenaries who were ready for action.
The young CEO had seen the island of Sandalio thousands of times in his research, but never in person. His first look at the thick forest ahead made him second-guess his decision to join his hired help. But he was a go-getter, and even this challenge wouldn’t change that, especially since his secret investors trusted him to get the job done.
He followed his team through the thick brush of the jungle for nearly two days. Softball-sized insects dove toward his head only to divert past his ears at the last second. He swatted at them at first, but seeing the focused mercenaries unbothered by the insects, he concentrated on ignoring them as well. Each painful bite on his exposed skin from the oversized mosquitoes increased his worry of contracting malaria or some undiscovered disease, but those fears weren’t enough for him to abandon his mission. There was too much money at stake.
Bernard’s excitement grew as his team neared their destination. The hand-drawn maps from his researchers led him and his team to the edge of an indigenous tribal village. They travelled upwind to the perimeter of the village and hid within the overgrowth of weeds and thistles and poison ivy. Bernard scooted forward with a set of binoculars pressed against his face.
The early-morning sun highlighted the opening within the trees enough for him to see his prize. Few civilized men had ever witnessed what Bernard now saw, and even fewer lived to tell about it.
According to his research teams, the village consisted of no more than a hundred villagers. The light bustle around the few primitive straw huts seemed to confirm the low numbers. Bernard glanced at his team of camouflaged mercenaries as they waited, itching for the coming bloodshed. Years of planning and research came down to this moment and he felt confident his hand-picked te
am could do the job.
He smiled. “Stick with the plan,” he whispered.
They nodded, took one last visual inventory of their weaponry, and crept forward. If Bernard’s research was solid, which he had no reason to doubt that it was, an early dawn attack was their best opportunity for success. The tribesmen would be well-fed from their frenzied night of hunting and less likely to be at their best.
He and his team crawled from the brush to the edge of the village. With no more forest to hide their approach, they separated and circled the small tribe. The men of the village, the hunters, celebrated around a magnificent bonfire while the women stood behind them, watching, waiting for their chance to feast. The hunters wore nothing but the blood of their prey as they danced in circles around the previous night’s kills. Though the fire burned hot and bright, each man took his turn leaping forward and ripping into the raw flesh of the fresh carcasses with their teeth, not waiting for the meat to cook. With blood and raw meat hanging from their jaws, they bounced back to rejoin their celebrating brethren.
The women grew impatient, shuffling from foot to foot. The tribesmen appeared in no hurry to share their feast. A few of the younger women inched closer. An older, grey-haired man with a small bone pierced through his lower lip spun toward the creeping girls, snarled like a beast, and lunged at them. They retreated to the other women and the older man returned to his dance.
Bernard made eye contact with the mercenary at his left. The mercenary nodded back. It was time. Bernard crawled from the brush and rushed the celebrating tribesmen. He had no illusions of getting much closer without them catching his scent, so he had planned accordingly. The mercenary at his left squeezed off the initial burst of automatic gunfire.
One of the women fell, dead before her body hit the ground. The villagers’ celebration ended. The tribesmen turned toward their attackers, stunned. They were used to being hunters, not hunted, and they were caught off-guard. Bernard’s plan was working.
Two more villagers fell before the panic set in among the others. Years of being the undeniable kings of the forest had made them complacent, which worked to Bernard’s advantage. The men of the village scrambled. The women ducked and scurried toward the false safety of their huts. The other mercenaries emerged from the woods, assault rifles blazing. More villagers crumpled to the ground.
Several tribesmen fled between their huts and toward the forest. Bernard had no doubt if they got to the trees the mission would be ruined. Their avoidance of the areas where his men waited told Bernard the savages had caught their scent and now knew their numbers and locations. The fight had begun.
Agonized screams followed gunfire throughout the village. Bernard lurched forward, his head on a swivel. He knew once the villagers made their transformations the counterattack would be sudden and violent, and he vowed not be caught unprepared.
One of the women bolted across his path. She hesitated when she saw him and released a beastly growl. The whites of her eyes turned black and soulless. Bernard lifted his weapon. She tilted her head like a confused Rottweiler.
An adrenaline rush unlike he had ever felt overtook him and he squeezed the trigger. She was the first person he had ever killed and he was shocked by his lack of guilt.
Bernard watched as an entire tribe, one that had existed for thousands of years if not longer, was annihilated in a matter of minutes. As the massacre dragged on, he smiled more and more, mentally counting the money that was sure to follow.
The gunfire echoed around him, beautiful to his ears. The natives had spears and primitive slingshots, but the unexpected attack took them by surprise and they were unable to regroup. Bernard removed a flare from his waistband, ignited it, and tossed it into the nearest hut. With the flames engulfing the straw, he jogged back to the village center where the celebratory bonfire only moments before had been so full of life. Around him his men chased and slaughtered every naked native they saw.
Behind a hut to his left, a roar like a lion’s accompanied the terrified scream of one of his men. More gunfire rang out before the roar ended and the screams ceased.
Scurrying feet startled him from behind. He spun to see a Bigfoot-looking creature race from one hut and disappear behind another. Someone else from his team cried out, fired his weapon, and died with a wail.
Bernard watched in amazement as a few of the tribesmen transformed before his eyes. He also watched his murderous men with pride as one by one they appeared in the open for a moment, slaughtered their game, and then disappeared again. They were the finest mercenaries on the planet. He wouldn’t have chosen them otherwise.
“Remember,” he shouted. “We only need one male. Kill the rest of them.”
The reminder wasn’t necessary, but Bernard was getting caught up in the moment, the adrenaline rush making him brash and overconfident.
At the edge of the village, the flashlight beams of two of his men followed another fleeing tribesman into the dark, shaded tree line. The tribesman, still clinging to his human form, wasn’t more than five feet tall and his ribs showed through his skin, indicating he was the runt of the litter. He was perfect. Bernard ran toward the chase, desperate to be a part of the capture.
Another hut to his left burst into flames, and then another. As he fled the village, the constant gunfire died down and he smiled, thrilled with how well the plan was proceeding. Short of an occasional fresh burst of gunfire as his men hunted down strays, the forest was quiet. Bernard took another few steps before realizing he had lost the trail of the men he was following. The matted-down weeds and brush they had trampled slowly lifted back to their pre-trampled state. He turned to retrace his steps to the village, but that path was lost as well. Though he waited for another gunshot to give him a direction, only silence returned.
In his excitement, he had overestimated his athletic prowess. With his hands on his knees and his lungs crying for air, he painfully remembered his lack thereof. He stopped, waited, and listened between gasps. He knew what he was up against if even one of the villagers escaped his men, and he knew he would pay dearly for that mistake. He cursed himself for leaving them. His assault rifle quivered in his hands. Just wait for the flare, he told himself.
Mosquitoes buzzed near his ears. The music of early morning crickets filled the dawn air, though he barely heard it over his own pounding heart. He raised his flashlight from his waistband and found only trees and shadows surrounding him.
His assault rifle in his hands did little to alleviate the terror that filled him. To his right beyond some trees, a long, steady growl rose and then died again. The brush rustled. He stopped breathing, afraid the sound of his breath would draw the waiting beast to him.
A creature as tall as a grizzly darted from behind one tree and disappeared behind another with the speed of a tiger. Bernard stumbled backward. He fumbled with his weapon, almost dropping it in his haste, but the creature was gone before he could aim.
The monster howled like a wolf. It had been wishful thinking to hope that the mission could be executed before any of the tribesmen morphed. All he could think about now was how foolish he was to let his men get out of his sight. Well, that and the urge to piss in his pants.
Bernard stumbled backward again until his shoulder blade met another tree. He aimed his weapon, but couldn’t hold it still because of his trembling hands. The fearless creature shot into the open and disappeared again before he could fire his gun. He had no doubt the monster was toying with him. He squeezed off a burst of gunfire at the trees, hoping to scare the predator away. Tree bark ripped apart in the spray of bullets, but aside from making him feel better, his gunfire was useless.
His heart fluttered in his chest. He couldn’t see the creature, though the sporadic cracking of sticks and rustling of leaves revealed that it was circling him. A twig snapped at his side. He retreated from the sound with his only hopes—the flashlight in one hand and his rifle in the other. He stumbled over brush and weeds and branches, somehow keeping his footing. He
didn’t yet see the beast, but its snorts and pursuing footsteps told him how close it was getting.
Bernard wouldn’t make it without a fight; that much was clear.
The beast exploded from the trees. Bernard dove to the ground, rolled to his back with his eyelids clenched shut, and held the trigger down until there were no more blasts of thunder from the muzzle of his weapon.
The forest went silent. Even the mosquitoes and crickets seemed to have hushed. He prayed for the chatter of his men, or their gunfire, but there was nothing.
As he waited on his back in the middle of the rain forest, wondering if he was about to die alone, his body never to be found, he thought of his new wife and the closure she would never receive. He fought his defeatist doubts, instead calming himself with strategic thoughts and hopeful prayers.
With his adrenaline subsiding a bit, he noticed the ground moving beneath his back. A flash of his light revealed hundreds of maggots crawling over his hands and up his sleeves and pant legs. A few feet to his left the headless carcass of a slaughtered deer seemed to dance with the movement of the maggots infesting it. He fought his intense need to brush the maggots off of him for fear of the movement revealing his location. Not that his gunfire hadn’t already given that away.
Branches snapped to his right. He jerked his head around, no longer able to remain still. The towering creature leaped from the trees. Bernard aimed his rifle and squeezed the trigger. His weapon clicked, and its following silence was deafening. The beast landed beside him, rose to his hind legs, and straddled him. Snot and blood and spit dripped from the creature’s snout. The beast roared, celebrating its successful hunt. The hairs on Bernard’s neck stood and his stomach turned.
The werewolf was bigger and more ferocious than what the aerial photographs had led him to believe. Its front hands slammed against the ground alongside each of Bernard’s shoulders, its bloody snout lowered to within inches of Bernard’s face. The creature’s breath was hot and rank and wet against Bernard’s flesh. Bernard pulled his face away until his opposite cheek was flat against the ground and the squirming maggots. The creature first sniffed his prey’s face and chest and then licked his cheek as if tasting him.
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