by C. L. Bevill
The pair of deer veered away from the direction Emma wanted to follow. Still headed north, she calculated whether there was a fourth or a fifth man waiting in the valley ahead. Emma thought that perhaps there was just such an individual. It would be someone, perhaps one of Whitfield’s people, who was there to ensure that Emma didn’t escape the hunters. Perhaps his instructions were to wing the animal so that she couldn’t make it further.
The sound of rushing water could be heard on one side. Altering course, Emma scouted the river’s banks. It was running too swiftly for an ocelot to swim, even though her beast didn’t typically have a problem with swimming. Emma couldn’t transform shapes and swim because she was growing progressively weaker. If she went back to human form, she would be stuck there, and she needed the ocelot for fighting the monsters that were chasing her.
Emma would have headed back to the west but the humans had already cut her off. Slower than she typically would have been, she could scent their sharp excitement. The three were in better shape than she had anticipated, or they had hunted this land before.
Shit, she thought. Emma set for speed as she paralleled the river. There was a single gunshot and a branch near her exploded into shards. She poured on the speed.
Ten minutes later Emma found the entrance to the valley. She crept through the thickest vegetation, systematically searching the horizon for the spot where a fourth individual would be concealed.
But something else happened. There was a distant roar that echoed violently through the forest. Sleeping birds exploded out of the skyline because of the explosive blast. Emma’s head shot up, looking southward. She was intimately familiar with that particular roar.
It was Wheeler. He was in the forest.
But so were three or possibly four men with specialized rifles.
•
Wheeler found the first man resting on a trunk minutes after he’d heard the distant shot. His rifle was braced against a nearby tree and he was taking a slug from a flask. He swallowed the bourbon and put the container back in his hunter’s vest. Then as he reached for the rifle, the lion were stepped between him and the weapon. The were’s form in the blackness blocked everything else out. He hadn’t heard the were’s careful steps because he was still puffing from having run a mile or more in the darkness
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” the man said and stiffened. One hand very slowly moved upward and tripped the headlight on his cap. It was a low level light designed to be used at night but not so bright as to scare off the prey. The light immediately revealed Wheeler’s leonine form and the enraged scowl frozen on his substantial face. The lion were’s eyes glowed brilliantly yellow in the dim light.
Wheeler knew that the man hadn’t fired his weapon. He could smell that the weapon was still freshly oiled. He snarled softly at the man. The man started to reach for a pocket with one hand and Wheeler slowly shook his head. The man froze again.
“Oh, God,” the man said. “You’re one of them. Dyson didn’t say anything about a lion.” He took a step back. It was dark in the forest and only stars above lit his way. The moon was new and there wasn’t anything around except deep shadows and the growl of a truly enraged beast. “A fucking lion the size of a Cadillac. We can work this out. I have money.”
Seeing the undeniable wrath in the lion were’s eyes, the man turned to run. Wheeler leaped on him. Knocking him into the tree trunk with a bone cracking thump, the man went down like a bag of cement in water. Wheeler didn’t much care. He bit into the man’s leg until he felt the bone snap without piercing the flesh. He sniffed briefly, pawed out the satellite phone and destroyed it. Then he found a handgun in a holster and crushed it with his unyielding bite. Finally, he carried the rifle away using his mouth and dropped it down a ravine.
Turning north again, Wheeler increased his stride. He paused once and let out a massive roar that boomed through the forest. Based on the fact that the first hunter’s weapon hadn’t been discharged, he knew that there was at least one other. Based on what he knew about the slimy Whitfield Dyson, there were probably at least a couple more hunters. He wanted the other hunters to be distracted. He wanted to let them know that they weren’t the only hunters in the forest. And most importantly, he wanted Emma to know that he was coming for her.
Chapter Eleven
Let the female cat run; the tomcat will catch her. – A German Proverb
Without regard to caution, Emma started back south again and immediately ran into the fourth man. She had guessed correctly. He was one of Whitfield’s employees. Dressed in black security garb, he had a similar weapon to the hunter with a thermal imaging scope mounted on it. Clearly, she had passed him on one side as she kept to the sides of the entrance to the valley. She’d picked the east side of the valley entrance and he’d been concealed on the west side, probably in some type of blind.
The man was surprised to see her. Since he had assumed that she would come from the south on the beaten path, he wasn’t expecting an ocelot to lope in from the north. Raising the rifle awkwardly, he directed it at her. Emma didn’t stop. His shot missed her and her thirty-five pound body landed full-force on his face. Dropping the weapon with a cry, he urgently tried to pry her from his body. Emma raked his flesh and let her powerful legs dig into his upper torso. The man screamed and doubled his efforts to get her off. After a moment, he managed to get a grip and forcefully threw her feline body away from him. She landed heavily in the brush. As she scrambled for purchase, she could hear him wildly seeking his weapon.
Just as she burst from the bushes, he found it and brought it to bear on her. Emma didn’t hesitate. She dashed to the left and the bullet slammed into parched undergrowth. Silently, on softest paws, she circled his position. He immediately lost her in the black night and her natural camouflage blended into the configuration of shadows and conifers. The man hesitated to wipe blood from his eyes. He said hoarsely, pleadingly, “I’m not supposed to kill you. I’m not. Just go now. Don’t hurt me.”
The hell I will, Emma thought. You already tried to kill me. With her ocelot’s superior night vision she saw the security man surreptitiously check the safety on his rifle. He also took a moment to ensure there were still bullets left. She crept from shadow to shadow. The man finally remembered the thermal imaging scope and flipped it on, bringing the rifle up so he could look through the attachment. She got behind him and moved when he did, keeping at his back. Turning in a complete circle, he scanned the area, with her moving silently behind him. She could tell the moment that he relaxed. The end of the rifle went down with a gusty sigh. He thought that she had listened to his words and fled. Instead, Emma was conserving her strength. The silver wounds, although devoid of silver, were still burning, and she was shivering with weakness. However, she knew she had the strength to take care of this man who had every intention of killing her no matter what he said. Moreover, he would kill Wheeler if he had the opportunity.
“Crap,” the man said to himself. He reached for his pocket and Emma hit his back with all of her weight. The satellite phone flew out of his grip and vanished into the darkness. She wrapped her claws around the man and made sure he would never hurt another were again.
•
Two more shots made Wheeler’s blood turn to ice. Someone was shooting at something and the something was probably Emma. When he found the second hunter, he didn’t even hesitate. He exploded from the gloom and pounced on the man before he could bring his rifle up. Wheeler wasn’t sorry that the man didn’t move afterward. The lion were’s massive weight had crushed the man’s chest.
Wheeler took a moment to make sure that the man’s weapons and phone were made inoperative. The shots had come from the north and east. He left the second hunter behind him and didn’t look back.
•
Emma stumbled. She’d headed back to the south again, keeping to the thickest brush, trying to scout her way ahead. She saw other wildlife in the forest. A small herd of elk was startled by her presence and headed south a
t a brisk clip. She interrupted some nocturnal birds that were hunting for their midnight snacks. An owl and some nightjars took off in an explosion of feathers and squawking protests. She cast them a weary glance because she would have eaten one if it had come close enough for her to catch. She would have even eaten a spotted owl if one had presented itself.
What Emma needed was protein to help her shifter DNA regenerate her wounds. But there was the immediate threat to Wheeler that precluded her stopping for a pick-me-up. He might not know how many hunters were out there and a lion made for an impressive target. How many African lions are running around in Wyoming after all? And what could a hunter say after he shot and killed the beast? “It tried to attack me so I had to defend myself.”
The thought of Wheeler being shot and killed because of Emma made her stomach hurt with an agony she had never felt before.
When she stumbled again, Emma paused and panted softly. She found a hidey hole under a Lodgepole pine. She wanted to shift so she could yell to Wheeler, but almost all of her energy was gone. She’d never been this tired, even when she was staggering through a rain forest in Belize seeking someone to help her. Maybe if I look helpless enough a mouse or a rabbit will run into my mouth?
There was a nearby crackling of branches. Emma froze into position. She was in the deepest shade of a gnarled pine tree that bent over to its side. Something was moving toward her from one side.
Tensing her achingly drained body, Emma prepared herself for a last sprint. There was a clicking noise and a voice said, “Stay where you are.”
Emma cursed silently. It was one of the hunters and even through the curved branches she could see that he had her in his sights. His rifle was pointed directly at her. Even worse, it was the one who had asked Whitfield if they could spend ‘time’ with her before they hunted her. Why couldn’t I get the one with some scruples? Hell, none of them has scruples.
“Change back into a girl,” the man said and she could smell the overpowering scent of excitement pouring off his flesh in waves.
Emma hissed softly. The man would want to come closer and when he did, she would carve him into pieces. Then she would go for the other hunters and Whitfield Dyson, if Wheeler hadn’t gotten to them first. When she felt a little better she was going to find the were, Martinez, and she was going to show him the business end of her German knives, inch by terrifying inch.
“Whitfield said that you wouldn’t do it voluntarily,” the man said. “And there’s something else out here, isn’t there?” He moved slowly, never allowing his weapon to point away from her body. “I heard it before. Never heard that before. Some kind of treat from Whitfield?”
Treat? This man hasn’t figured it out yet, Emma thought with bitter vindictiveness. He has his sat phone turned off. He’s too engrossed in me. Abruptly she realized that monsters came in all kinds of forms. The were who had changed her without her permission had been a monster. Once she had thought of herself as a monster, but she had discovered that there were worse things than being occasionally furry.
There were humans who were every bit as monstrous as anything she’d ever met previously. A prime example was this man, who like Whitfield, thought he could do anything he wanted with a were because it wasn’t really like him.
Emma prepared herself to rush the man. Let him shoot me. I’ll kill him twice for it.
The man made a little noise. He was considering where to shoot her so that she would still be alive for a while.
Suddenly, a large gray object flew into the man’s face. The avian were had dive-bombed his head, viciously striking with claws and beak. Before Emma could move the man’s finger tightened on the rifle’s trigger and a shot fired. She felt the burning agony of more silver entering her flesh and her body began to transform involuntarily. The feeling of the spontaneous change was like having bits of red hot coals dragged through her veins. Convoluting bones shrieked with searing torment as they forced themselves back into the way they were supposed to be. The fatigue and blood loss had taken a heavy toll. She opened her mouth as a feline and ended with a peculiar scream of pain that came from her human shape. It resonated horrendously through the dark timberland. Peripherally, she heard Xandra’s cry as the bird were dodged the man’s careening form and screeched as she took to the skies again.
A moment later and Emma was lying along the forest floor, gasping through the hurting. Naked and nearly helpless, she couldn’t do anything else. She looked up and the man was staring down at her, aiming his rifle again at her writhing shape. Slowly she collected herself.
“You heard the roar,” she bit out.
“I heard something,” the man said. She couldn’t see his features in the darkness. Her human eyes weren’t as good as the ocelot’s. But he looked menacing there, looming above her, ready to do her harm and more.
“That’s my Alpha,” she whispered. “He’s coming and he’ll kill you. Better pray he makes it a quick death.”
The man laughed nervously. “What was the bird? Another one of your kind? Clawed my face up good, but it’ll be all right in the long run. I’ll tell my wife it was a hell of a hunting trip.”
Emma tried to shift away from him, but she couldn’t do anything else. Every part of her body blazed with excruciating pain. The blood was freely flowing down her shoulder and she knew that she was moments from losing consciousness.
“Don’t have anything else to say?” the man asked. He put the rifle down, leaning it against the stump of a tree that was several long feet away from Emma. Then he reached for his shirt.
Somewhere, somehow, Emma found the energy to hiss again. The man checked his movements for an instant. His hand started to work at buttons. Then he lowered his hands to his belt.
There was a low growl that resonated through the little grove of Lodgepole pines.
The man laughed again. A little nervous chuckle gave him a measure of self-assurance. “Growling won’t help you,” he said.
Emma discovered that she still had a little something left after all. “Wasn’t me, asswipe.”
Moving her head a little, Emma discovered Wheeler’s intense golden gaze locked on her. Standing next to the rifle was his huge lion form. His head was down and his tail twitched angrily back and forth. His rear legs were crouched to leap. As the hunter perceived her staring behind him, he turned his head to look. A tiny strangled sound slithered out of his mouth as he saw exactly what was positioned so close to him. His hand was still on the buckle of his belt.
Wheeler’s huge head painstakingly turned toward the man. Emma could tell the moment that he realized what the human hunter had been about to attempt. The snarl that ripped across his features was like lightning on the darkest night of the year.
Emma’s eyes fluttered shut as she listened to the man scream.
•
Wheeler changed back into his human form and rushed to Emma’s side. She looked so pale and so fragile in the starlight. There was a silver bullet wound to her shoulder and the blood was still running liberally. He covered it with his hand and pressed into it. She should have moaned from the hurt, but she didn’t move. Hastily he lowered his head to her chest. There was a feeble heartbeat. But it was still beating.
Lifting his head, he looked to the south and bellowed, “KILLIAN! Now, goddamnit, now! I need you right the fuck NOW!”
The bird were fluttered down beside the pair, remaining in her animal shape and Wheeler cast the avian a disconcerted glance. “Can you fly to them?” he asked urgently. “Show them the way. We need our doctor.”
Xandra immediately took to the air and shot away.
Wheeler looked down at Emma again. Her hair was a mess. She was as white as water lilies. Even her normally red lips were tinged with blue. Her precious fingers and arms had been burned with some kind of silver. It looked like she had gone against some silver lined fence. Her thigh was injured with older bullet holes, torn and half coagulated.
“God,” Wheeler swore vehemently. “Emma, Emma, liste
n to me.”
She didn’t make a noise.
Wheeler gathered her up in his arms while keeping one hand pressed against the wounded shoulder. “I should have told you, years ago. Weres have the ability to know when they meet the one they’re supposed to be with. They only get one shot and it’s like a certain scent to them. A smell that’s like heaven and earth combined. It’s everything anyone could want in a mate.” His breath hitched in his chest as he stared down at her. “It was like that with you. I smelled you in New Mexico. I knew you were mine. I couldn’t leave you there. But you were so…wounded. I couldn’t make you do anything.”
Emma lay as still as death in his arms. There were bruises on her flesh and he brushed a matted lock of her chestnut brown hair out of her still closed eyes.
“I’m glad I waited,” he whispered. “Or I would have never known what it felt like to love someone. I love you, Emma.”
The words slipped into the night and there was the answer of a distant coyote as it scented a fresh meal. Wheeler wanted to roar for Killian again or roar for the hell of it, but it wouldn’t do any good. He bent his head to her neck and waited for help to arrive.
“Why did you wait so long?”
His head snapped up. Emma’s eyes were slotted open. She fought to keep them that way but her face was twisted with pain and with a small smile. “What?”
“Why did you wait so fucking long, Christopher?” she asked.
Wheeler could hear the rapidly approaching weres and he sighed as he kissed the side of her neck. “Because I didn’t want to scare you away,” he murmured.
Emma’s eyes flickered shut again. “Stupid,” she said. “I want to go home now.”