Creature Comforts

by Creature Comforts (lit)

  “I’ll kick his ass for that when he gets back.” Brandon, the leaner twin, announced without a hint of animosity. Chase growled. “Fuck that. I’m going to shove that fairy collar up his ass.” Crawling out from under her would-be mate, India heard the ineffective slap-slap of hands on t-shirt as Diana Weis fended off her own mate’s protection.

  “What happened?” Irritation in the alpha female’s voice melted with pride. A smug smile grew, aimed directly at her mate. Adam sighed with long-suffering patience. “Isn’t that handy?”

  “You’re not going to let it go, are you?” He asked.

  “Nope.” Diana picked up the coffee cup which had been knocked to the ground in the commotion, then ambled around the desk to settle back into the desk chair. “You worry too much. I told you, he’d be fine.” Giving the impression of dainty humanness among the wolves, she tucked her feet up under her. Diana waved a hand at the remaining wolven. “I think India was at the part where she went back to the beginning and we pick over every tiny bit of the story until we get an idea of what we’re dealing with. I don’t like the idea that they can kill us off with a super poison.” The males shifted until she huffed out an irritated breath. “Fine. What you he-men are dealing with. The rest of us estrogen-bearing packmembers will stay home. Those of us not pregnant will have a massive shoe-burning ritual. After which, we will gather in the kitchen to bond over cookbooks and canning supplies. Happy?”

  “That depends.” Brandon, the lean twin, flicked an indifferent shrug from his corner of the room. His teeth marks still burned on India’s arm. “Will there be cookies?”

  India didn’t think she heard that right until Diana gasped. “Brandon Weis! I know you didn’t just smart mouth me.”

  “No, ma’am.” Lean, mean and scary looked just shy of meeting Diana’s frowning stare. The faintest of smiles softened his expression. He looked almost cute, in a psychotic killer kind of way. “I would never smart mouth you, Mom. I was just hoping there would be cookies for the winner.”

  “Winner?” Chase’s interest perked. “For whoever takes down the Hunter? I could get behind that.” Even the tired-faced mountain of muscle in the other leather chair stroked a hand down his beard. The light of competition fired in his eyes, taking away much of his haggard appearance.

  “Oh, good grief.” Diana spat her disbelief as she flopped back in the chair, rolling her eyes. “You guys want cookies for taking out the murderer stalking our territory?”

  “Not just cookies.” Adam clarified. “Real cookies. And I only think he’s murdered just the one Were since he’s been here.”

  “With sugar,” Chase added. “None of the fake stuff. And there’s got to be a body for proof.”

  “Yeah, it’d be too easy to nab a body part from some stupid schmuck to claim the prize.” The bearded male stated, leaning forward in his chair as he contemplated the rules for the Kill the Hunter and Win Cookies contest. We don’t want any of the others trying to mooch in on the cookies. No oatmeal, peanut butter, or molasses.”

  “Frosted sugar cookies,” Brandon glanced at the door, growled low in his throat as if thinking about having to share the prize, then returned to the planning. “No less than two dozen. And the winner doesn’t have to share.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Diana muttered. “Don’t you think it’s a little unfair to make the rules with Bradley gone?”

  “You snooze, you lose,” Brandon shrugged.

  “He’ll adapt,” Mountain man said.

  “Unfair?” Chase’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. “The kid’s got fairy powered teleportation. Now that’s what I call unfair.”

  “All’s fair in love and war.” Adam’s white smile was wide and predatory as he met his mate’s accusatory expression. “I only want just two things, honey. A dead Hunter and the two dozen cookie prize.”

  * * * *

  “How could you have been in Frankston for over a month with the Hunter not getting a whiff of you?” The scratchy rumble of Mack’s voice had stopped intimidating India. For that Chase was glad. The obvious answer to Mack’s question didn’t bode well for his mate. Either the Hunter was a complete incompetent. Chase’s nonfatal poisoning by tranquilizer dart and killing a naked wereraccoon were hardly ringing endorsements of the Hunter’s supposed legendary skills. Unless, of course, India and the Hunter planned all this ahead of time. Once the locals accepted her presence, she could feed the Van Helsing wanna-be information about the local supernatural population.

  “I have no idea.” India said again. Her fatigue wore at him. Shadows lay like bruised petals against the velvet of her skin. “I was beginning to think he gave up.” She frowned. “I wanted to believe he gave up. I’m too tired to run anymore.”

  “Hunters aren’t just trained. They’re bred. They are the elite of the psychic communities.” For the first time, Mack stood up. The human psychic was easily the tallest and broadest of them all. Even Tank, who like his namesake, was a freaking huge instrument of destruction, lacked the same amount of shear mass Mack carried. On quiet bare feet he walked to the trophy case where all the pack’s memorabilia was proudly displayed. Every grade school playday and science fair ribbons held places of honor alongside baseball, football, karate, and perfect attendance trophies. A lot of memories graced that wall. Much better memories than whatever flash from the past played in the Beta’s head. “Hunters are fed hatred for all things supernatural with their mother’s milk. Hunters rarely lose

  site of their quarry and they never give up.”

  “Sounds like first hand experience to me.” India accused. “Makes one wonder why you’re here and not out there tracking down big bad supernaturals.”

  “No stomach for the work.” Mack turned back around. The fine weathered lines fanning deepened above his trimmed salt and peppered beard. “Death follows the Hunter, India Demos. People are going to die unless we stop him. Not just you or your Reggie.”

  “That’s enough.” Diana bounced to her feet before Chase’s protest formed on his lips. In an economy of motion, she herded India out from the center of the males and nearly to the door. “She doesn’t need to know who, and neither do I.”

  “I agree,” Adam’s ready capitulation attested to his eagerness to keep the females out of the coming fight. It also soothed some the lingering doubt in Chase’s mind about India’s loyalties. The magic of the matebond had him tied up in knots. He wanted to stand guard over her, touch her skin, inhale her scent, and bare his teeth at any who looked at his mate wrong. At the same time he wanted her gone and out of his life before anymore trouble turned up because of her.

  Chase and India shared one long look before Diana ushered her out of the boss’s office with the protectiveness the Alpha would have shown for any other female under her care. Chase didn’t want to think too hard about Diana’s sudden acceptance.

  Pulling his braid over his shoulder, he tugged the band off the end of the tail. Since meeting her face to face, too much of his attention kept straying to thoughts of India. The mechanical distraction of pulling the strands apart helped to center himself. Loosening the tight braid did little to ease the ache in his scalp. Chase felt tense. He tried without success to rub some of the tension from his scalp. With her out of sight, he hoped to push the turmoil she kept in to the back of his thoughts.

  “You’ve got it bad.” Mack’s comment brought a snarl to Chase’s lips.

  “Back off. It’s been pisser of a day.”

  Mack laughed. The short bitter bark held no mirth. “You got that right in one.”

  The scent of fairy and wolf drew Chase’s attention from the building confrontation. The office door opened. Bradley strolled in, shutting the door firmly behind him. “Do we have a way to block calls? That lawyer in Lufkin called again. What part of, we don’t want anything to do with you, doesn’t the moron understand? ” Bradley’s eyes cut over to Chase as he crossed the room. “Got your foundling all tucked in. The little twerp is fast, I’ll give him that.
But not too bright. I turned him over to Rick and Mark to keep an eye on.” Avoiding the central chair that India vacated earlier, Bradley returned to the wall space he’d occupied earlier. “So, what did I miss?”

  “Getting your ass kicked.” Brandon shifted, giving more space between the brothers.

  “You can try.” Bradley eyed his packbrother’s contemplative expressions. He tensed, waiting for an attack.

  “Not in the house. You know the rules.” Adam’s bland tone belied the very real threat should someone scuffle in his private domain. Chase remembered the early days, learning the hard way that high-energy wolven pups tended to break things and draw blood when they roughhoused. The first got expensive to replace and the second landed all the adults in the vicinity in the doghouse with Diana. So, now only the youngsters were given leniency on that rule. Being small and cute had definite advantages. Adam pulled out an extra-large county map, unrolling it on the tidy emptiness of his desktop.

  He looked up, his pale eyes hard as ice. The unyielding force of his will focused completely on Chase. “I didn’t want to go into this in front of the rest of the pack. Especially, Diana.” Chase nodded once. While the Alpha female held a large portion of his heart, Chase chose the Alpha male as his chosen leader. Adam had more than earned that honor a thousand times over. Where Adam directed, Chase gladly went, even if it meant his death. All business, the Alpha smoothed a possessive hand over the map that represented their territory. Their home. “Mack’s vision this time hits us personally.” Adam bared his teeth at their unseen enemy. The parody of a smile, all aggression and not at all friendly, was lost on the Beta who was caught up again with the distraction of the trophy case.

  Mack scratched at his beard. “All of us.” He rumbled. “If we don’t stop him, he’ll take us out like the Orange County pack. That’s why we’ve been playing it low key. Whatever they did to piss off the Hunters, they retaliated to make a point.” The Beta turned around, faced the twin wardens. “You remember how cruel Garrick Moser was to his own pack.” His attention on no one in particular, the Beta tried keeping his revelations impersonal. The twins suffering at the old Packleader’s hands had been beyond terrible. He left it at that, everyone knew that the old bastard raped and tortured his people. Adam and Mack saved them from that.

  Chase and Tank may have come on the scene after the big show, but like the other older pack members he’d spent too many years on cleaning up the mess Moser left behind. Years of proving to Bradley, Brandon, Mark, Rick, and the youngest, Seth, the difference between a pervert asshole werewolf like Garrick Moser and a real wolven, whose duty it was to protect those weaker than themselves. That a pack cared for its own.

  Brandon snarled, then checked himself. “Old news, Mack. Tell us something we don’t know.”

  “Okay. Moser didn’t just screw with his own. He liked to take it on the road.” Emotions, anger, frustration, fear, rolled from the large man as he paced from the trophy case to the desk and back. Finally, pulling himself together Mack faced them again. “Like his second, Marcus Cargill, Moser liked to hunt the big game.”

  “I remember that.” Bradley’s gaze turned inward. “The basement had a bunch of mounted animal heads on the walls.”

  “Not all of them were animal or were.” Brandon stated, his voice flat and emotionless. He either didn’t notice or acknowledge the carefully blank look as his twin watched him. Sometimes the worst torture you could inflict on a person was to make them watch helplessly while the one closest to them was hurt. Even now, Moser’s ghost strained the brothers’ relationship. “He liked to break the strong. Psychics and fairies were his favorite meal.” The impression of raw and wriggling slipped into the packbond before Brandon closed himself off.

  Until that moment, Chase hadn’t even realized that the younger man let himself join the unity of the packbond. It was a major breakthrough for Brandon, Omega of Moser’s pack, and now warden of this one, to consider himself enough a part that he opened a part of his innermost self up to the whole.

  “The psychic communities had ten million dollar bounty on his head.” Mack’s arms crossed over his chest. Under the shirt were the scars from where Moser’s claws literally ripped the human psychic from chest to groin, a killing blow if Adam hadn’t shared blood with him. “In the early sixties and seventies every Hunter from every country dreamed of adding Moser’s name to his kill list. It was eerie how the werewolf knew who was gunning for him. A lot of Hunters died within hours of hitting U.S. soil.”

  Bradley shook his head. “No. I’m not disagreeing, we were young. But wouldn’t we have known if a bunch of Hunters kept showing up in Anderson County? Plus, the coyotes didn’t exactly try to keep themselves off the radar. It’s a wonder they didn’t expose the entire supernatural world to the normals.”

  “We travelled a lot,” was Brandon’s solemn answer. “Just not long. Hunting trips that took a week or two. He didn’t like anyone except his wardens to know he’d gone. They never knew when he’d suddenly show back up.”

  Bradley frowned harder. “They said….” He shook his head at the memory. “I guess it doesn’t matter what lies they told to keep us all in line. It still doesn’t explain how Moser knew he was hunted.”

  “Bitten psychic males turned wolven still retain some weak abilities,” Brandon said. “Karen thinks that born wolven have weak latent psychic abilities. Maybe he just knew when someone was after him.” He looked to Mack for confirmation.

  “That’s one theory. Still, it wasn’t until after Garrick Moser was killed that his home territory was discovered.” Mack nodded. “He was infamous among Hunter circles. Taking out the pack now, would still be a big notch on some Hunter’s belt. It would be like evening the score after all this time.

  “And if we don’t stop this guy, that’s exactly what he’s going to do. We’re not people to them. We’re monsters. Those of us who are still human are traitors in their eyes.” His gravelly voice lowered. Sweat beaded on his face as he remembered every detail of the vision. The pain of his loved ones deaths reflected in his eyes. “He’ll kill everyone. Male, female, and pups.”

  Chase smacked a fist into his palm. “Not if we get him first.” Grim determination flowed along the packbond, uniting them in spirit.

  Adam tapped one thick finger on the map, drawing everyone from their respective corners to the desk. The area they called their own was large. Larger still, if they counted the ‘unclaimed’ counties where they allowed other Weres to settle under the pack’s unofficial protection. The fairies lived pretty much everywhere, but none of them counted on that group for backup. Except for Bradley, and he was one of the wolven first. Adam’s deep voice touched a chord in them, the magic of the Alpha bolstering their confidence, uniting them further. “Okay boys, we’re going to have to split up since we’re one warden shy of our usual three teams of two.”

  In his opposite hand, he jiggled the old game pieces stolen over the years from various versions of the game to represent themselves. Chase’s tiny motorcycle was set in the southern section of the map. Counter clockwise, Adam set Bradley’s racecar, Mack’s archeologist adventurer’s hat, and Brandon’s wizard. Last, the boss’s small Darth Vader figure sat between the tiny wizard and the motorcycle. Tank’s small drum beating Muppet figurine stayed in the desk drawer. “Everyone stay in touch through the packbond.” Adam’s eyes touched on his second in command with concern. “Mack, technically you are still human. The Hunter’s going to think of you as the weakest. Take plenty of firepower of your own and don’t give him the upper hand. Everyone else stays here. The pups can miss a few days of school and everyone will be easier to protect.” Meaning that the non-warden males will be responsible for protecting Packhome. The females would protect the young. “You boys want to kick someone’s ass? Find that Hunter and tear into that.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “My people, how long can we tolerate this current state of being?” Deacon Isaiah Gabriel gripped both edges of the polishe
d podium. The rich color of the warm reddish wood reminded Carter of old blood. On the television, Isaiah Gabriel smiled at the camera, benevolence oozing like the venom from a spider waiting as its prey tangled further into its web.

  Forgiveness and understanding for those like Isaiah Gabriel came from another’s deadly hand. Like Carter’s. The deacon’s flushed round features and balding top against the obviously expensive white on white suit, reminded the Hunter of a Midwestern Danny Devito. He let parishioners absorb the question, then pressed one meaty palm against his chest. “The time is past when our church was able to minister to its own needs without worry as to what demon may creep through its boundaries. Now, everywhere you turn, the unrighteous, the unclean, have infiltrated our church. Our very homes dear people.”

  The crowd murmured, perhaps a bit discontent with what the good deacon preached in his soft reasonable tone. Carter looked up from his inventory of specialty darts. One green tipped dart paused in its slow rotation over the steel covered lead and silver lined case. His eyes narrowed as he picked up small tell-tale signs that the self-proclaimed minister was using psychic powers to influence his audience. Not necessarily a no-no, the powers-that-be tended to discourage messing with the masses of ungifted nulls. Just like anything that could get the psychic communities exposed to either the human population or supernaturals would be met with reprisal on the short end of a Hunter’s mercy.