She body slammed him and he crumpled to ground in front the pack. “You’ll do what I say when I say. Or perhaps you’d prefer our brethren report back you’ve been eating humans on the sly?” He hissed and she growled. She snarled at the gray and black wolves around her. “What the ‘Mistress’ says, goes. Any of you got a problem with it?”
They cowered with their teeth bared, piqued by the tousle.
She nodded. “Good. We patrol the borders between here and the Cove. At the Mistress’ command. We’re the last bastion between the beasts that are terrorizing the cities from the coast to as far as The Bay. So far, we’ve been able to traverse the hills at night and sleep till noonday. If the beasts figure out how we move about, they’ll destroy us.”
Gold Eyes laughed. “Liar. The beasts in this area want only food. The Humans.”
She stared at him, her teal eyes bright. “And who do you believe they’ll eat after they gobble the human pure bloods? A half-ling like all of you,” she answered watching him and the rest of the pack was quiet. “Think what you will of the Mistress. But she saved me and each of you. The truck she had us find was a test.”
“Test?” Said Gold.
“Did I stutter?” Blue blinked. He hung his head and she pawed the bent earring. “Do not get captured by the humans. Any one of us could wind up in their control before each new moon.”
“For how along,” the black wolf asked.
“Until we know whether the traveler is someone we can trust?” She looked at the pack. “Each of you traded something important to you to be part of the wolven. So you could help to keep the town safe. Wearing any jewelry or clothing will get you recognized and might just get you killed. And how long?” Her bluish eyes shimmered in the half moonlight. “As long as it takes.” She ran into the night as the wolves followed.
Gold brought up the rear as he muttered under his breath. “Until one of us finds someone who can lift the curse that’s damned us to protect anything that doesn’t transform. I tasted the human’s blood. It was like the other human’s. Rich, and laced with a power greater than I could fathom,” he ran with the pack harder.
“Something evil?” His striped, gray brother wolf whispered.
“Something probably powerfully wicked”, their black brother grinned.
“Enough,” Blue said as she stepped in front of the pack. She led them down the moon shaded path to a cliff overhanging a bar in Smugglers’ Cove. “We’re here.”
Chapter Two
Ridge found the bar which wasn’t difficult.
He climbed down from his truck in front of the Last Chance Saloon. They still have those?
He pondered the sign then looked around, wondering why every car in town seemed to be here. Backing to his truck, he watched an oversized rig ease into the last space beside him. The exhaust from its tailpipe polluting all of the fresh air.
Ridge saw a potbellied trucker hop down accompanied by a pencil-necked teen wearing an apron. The younger dude jumped onto the rig’s flatbed.
“Git those cartons to the stockroom. There’s no telling how much beer’s been swilled since the last hunt.” The kid pushed his Peterbilt cap onto his curly blond crown and nodded.
Swatting his own cap against his tree trunk things, the driver ran his thick palm over his Santa white beard as he regarded Ridge. “We don’t get many city slickers up here,” he said.
Ridge looked around, then at the driver before giving himself a once over. “That obvious?”
The truck driver pursed his almost totally fur coated lips then smiled. “Yep. Peeps who get this far from the main highway have ‘The Look’.”
Ridge could only imagine his expression. “Like a deer caught in the headlights?” The driver looked at him nonplussed and made him wonder if he had stepped backward into another time. Where men like himself still opened the door for women and the ladies preferred to be called “Miss” or “Ma’am”.
The last time he’d tried being chivalrous, he’d gotten an icy reception. Closer to “F-off.” Equality was cool but treating a woman right was ingrained deeply in him. Go figure, since he’d grown up never having a solid family. He doubted he’d risk on love or any sort of relationship again. Ever.
The driver slapped him on the back. “I think I like you, boy.” His laugh booming big and loud as Ridge tipped forward.
A woman darted from the road to the parking lot, her arms and legs bare. He watched her gingerly step across the gravel as she tugged on her snug red dress that revealed her taut breasts. He paused to admire her legs as she passed and her ample apple bottom.
The trucker thumped Ridge between his shoulders. “Now don’t go getting your briefs excited. One thing we got in the Cove is fillies prettier than a coin you can pan from the old mill,” he nodded at the hills behind the road opposite the saloon.
Did the guy think he believed there was still gold in these hills?
“Yeah?” Ridge averted his eyes to mask his reaction, though he was sure the rise in his pants gave him away.
“Name’s Hartman. Everybody calls me Gus,” They shook hands, and he tugged Ridge like he was a rag doll and age 10 instead of 190 and 6’6” going on 35 by the New Year.
“You sure it isn’t Thor?” Ridge marveled at the guy’s strength, hearing him bellow and watching his big belly shake. As he noticed the pretty lady made her way to the bar.
“Like, you. Pretty fit for what? A pencil pusher?”
“Investments,” Ridge said massaging the numbness in his weaker leg when the ground under them thrummed.
Monster-hogs and a quake land? Awesome, he mused grimly. A swarm of bikers on Harleys buzzed down the main drag that split the town.
“Kill all bears,” they shouted.
Motor punks, in leather, too. Aces, Ridge thought as he turned to the bar.
The woman in red saw the bikers bee-lining toward her and she screamed.
Ridge sprinted to the middle of the parking lot. He grabbed the woman by her waist shielding her with his body. She felt small and fragile as he felt her huddle in the safety of his brawny jean-clad arms. “Get the hell out of here,” he said.
“Big man,” the biker at the rear said as they rumbled past. He raised his leather sleeve and Ridge saw something glint in the half-moonlight. He circled the woman to the tavern as a glass bottle struck him, hard.
The glass crashed across his back, spilled on the gravel and burst into flames. Ridge gathered the lady in his arms, carrying her when Gus rounded them.
“Fire.” Ridge felt a thump on his body.
He set the woman down, seeing her join the bar owner. “What the hell are you doing?” He raised his arms near his head as they pounded on him.
“You’re on fire,” she said.
Ridge smelled smoke and he saw his coat was ablaze. He dropped to the gravel and rolled. As the gas continued to burn.
“See you in hell, bears,” the rear biker laughed as they drove into the night.
Ridge saw the heel of the shoe about to skull crush him and he scrambled to his feet. “What’s with you, are you crazy?” Pulling off his jean coat, he threw it to the ground. Gus stomped at the fiery glass with his boot.
“What kind of town is this?”
“The kind that is very hospitable to strangers,” the woman said. Walking with the bar owner to help Ridge into the bar.
“Git the hell outta the way,” Ridge noticed Gus bark and saw patrons scurry like he was Moses parting the Red Sea. A couple of bar guests joined Gus and helped Ridge into a booth.
“I’ll try to phone a doctor,” the woman said when Ridge caught her arm.
Their eyes locked and Ridge noticed her black eyes. “You all right” Eyes so dark, Ridge thought he could lose himself in her soul. She bent over his shoulder and pecked him gruffly on the cheek and she smelled like Molotov and honey.
The barkeep called her to the bar. She left but not before her smile reached her eyes.
Ridge shifted uncomfortably; the ache in h
is groin made him hard.
“Thanks.”
Ridge glanced at Gus seeing his the corners of his mouth twitch. “I’ll take a look at you. Spent some time in Desert Storm with an Evac Unit.” He tapped Ridge’s leg and held him in his hammy paws. Both of them saw the marks on his thigh were caked with red. Gus glanced at him. “These are punctures. Need to get anything off your chest?”
Hearing the old man had served in The Forces made him relax some. Having completed two tours in The Reserves himself. The drive had been uneventful mostly, except for nearly rolling himself down a ravine, and the “attack. Probably wouldn’t hurt to let the geezer take a real look at him. “It’s nothing,” Ridge replied, his teeth gritted.
“I’ve seen my share of wounds and this ain’t a stroll down the lane,” he tested the leg again. Ridge stiffened. Okay, so old Santa didn’t buy the smoke screen. “This is a bar,” he said instead. “Right?”
“Yeah, I own this place, and I’m gonna do something about this leg. Brad, get me whiskey and a couple of jiggers.”
Ridge thought he had a medical kit. Geez. The gangly teen he’d seen outside brought a bottle of whiskey and shot glasses.
Ridge noticed the gangly teen he saw outside bring a bottle of amber liquid and two shot filled shot glasses.
“You enjoy the hard stuff?” Gus held out a glass to Ridge. He swigged some alcohol and pinned Ridge with a stare. “Cause the one doc we had we said farewell to a week ago.”
“You mean ripped to shreds,” said Brad.
Ridge watched the white-haired Santa slant Gus a sharp stare. Brad scurried speedily as Gus turned to Ridge. “We’ve had a few, events, over the years,” he said gruffly.
“Such as?” Gus poured a shot glass with whiskey, then he used the white bar cloth Brad had handed him. Ridge growled low when Santa poured alcohol from the bottle over his leg.
The bar owner sopped up the blood. Revealing two pronounced marks Ridge knew they both could see clearly. “Some say it’s bears.” Ridge felt the cloth drag across his hair-roughened leg. After the initial sting, gradually the pain subsided. “Others say they’re wolves,” they exchanged glances.
Wolves and bears. Awesomer, Ridge told himself. It was his phrase he swapped with ‘awesome’ when he thought he heard crazy.
“Must have been a wild drive.”
The old man didn’t know how right he was. “Maybe I can get someone to take a look at my truck while I look up some family?”
“We’re a brick and mortar town, not the Old West. Although some would beg to differ. We’ve got two car dealer shops, n’ strip malls, even a mortician.”
“That big?” Ridge replied. Feeling a fraction better when he and Gus realized the wounds hadn’t reached the bone.
“Yep. He deejays down in Frisco on the side.”
Growing up in The Bay most of his adult life, there were few things Ridge heard that still surprised. A burial dude doing double duty at the turntables did though, in spades.
He saw the woman in the red dress and heels hurry past. She thanked Brad for giving her the message her boss had called. She paused and gave Ridge a brief smile. He nodded before she left the bar.
Ridge hauled out his phone, testing his weight on his leg.
“You say you’ve got family here? You’re probably gonna want to see a clothes store tomorrow, too,” Gus noted.
Ridge mulled the notion as he waited for Griff to answer. “You know if there’s a winery around?”
The old Santa pulled his beard. “There’s the old saw mill. Wasn’t used since the gold rush days until some fancy slicker came and set up shop just north of here. Never seen him, tho. The Ingram place. Think it had another name after settlers thereabouts remarried. Matthew, no. Matheison. The guy there’s been spending most of his time between working with the masons at the main house near there. No one sees him except when there’s,” Gus quieted.
“Don’t leave me hanging,” said Ridge.
“It’s nothing. Just an old wives’ tale hereabouts. Probably an old ghost town legend,” Gus said.
Ridge crossed in front of the old man, his leg and his luck seeming to be on the upswing. His mood considerably brighter. “Do your worst.”
Gus spoke low. “The old-timers who settled around here in the 1800’s, believed the Ingram place was a gold mine.”
“Bull puckies,” Brad chimed from a booth next to theirs. “Everyone in the city says the place is cursed and anyone who hangs around there is as good as the same.”
“Get back to serving or you’ll get some of the same,” Gus frowned. Ridge watched Brad as his shoulders slumped. “My sister’s great nephew. Boy’s got more notions than Disney. Imagination, too.”
Ridge looked at the scorched marks on his jacket. “The guy you mentioned, is family,” Ridge quipped.
“Is that right?” Gus stared.
“I’m Griff Matheison’s brother, Ridge.”
Chapter Three
“Griff, you say?” Gus hedged. He’d been keeping tabs on the guy since he had arrived. Word was he was some kind of high-roller and a billionaire. Pretty self-contained, never really interacting with the community much. Gus hadn’t seen him or the city sheriff either for that matter in months.
They didn’t have much when it came to law enforcement. Didn’t need it much, until things had soured. He and the townspeople had played watchdog for each other after the sheriff they’d lobbied the state for ‘disappeared’. Rumor was, the sheriff went to see about the rumors about monsters running in the hills above the coast. The peeps around said a ‘Beast’ got him.
Except there wasn’t any truth in it. People were held up at his bar because there had been another ‘sighting’ and there was a half moon the last time the sheriff and a couple of visitors in town had been seen. They all vanished.
There had been a lot of peeps visiting the Cove after the so-called Bigfoot that had spotted a few days ago. Adventure junkies exploring off the PCH, looking for an adrenaline high. Nothing happened in peaceable Smugglers’ Cove. Except at moonrise.
“You do know him?”
Gus took stock of the younger Matheison. He seemed fair to middling, if not sharp. “Not familiarly, no.”
Ridge glanced around at the bar patrons. Wondering if they might know something more. “Can you point me to the nearest hotel?” He definitely could use a little sleep.
Gus gave him the names of some places, and a B&B sounded like it was closest to the mill. “At the old Marsden’s place?”
Mightily sharp, Gus amended silently. “Guess you are his kinfolk.”
“Thanks for the Intel and the whiskey,” Ridge nodded. He held out his hand to say thanks when the doors to the bar blew wide open.
Taking up the double saloon-style doors left to right stood the biker gang.
The smallest of them weaved to the front and saw Ridge. “If it ain’t the fiery knight,” he smirked, his leather chaps and jacket glowing in the low haze of the bar.
The tallest of them sauntered to Gus. Hearing the chains clank on boots, Ridge squared his shoulders. Seeing him remove his shades. The people nearest to the entrance shuffled to the farthest wall.
“Where’s the piss-sorry abomination in the red dress?”
The owner tossed back another jigger of alcohol then he stood. “We don’t want no trouble here, and you can hightail it back where you came, if you do,” he set the glass on the table beside him upside-down.
“Everybody wants lots of things,” The lead biker grinned. Ridge followed his gait as he stood next to the owner and uncapped the whiskey. He tilted his head then sloshed the booze down his gullet. “Ah,” he wiped his mouth with his gloved mitt.
The runt biker snicker as he flipped the crown of a lighter, its wick burning a sulfurous blue to gold. Their gang leader nearest to Ridge and Gus hefted the bottle like a ball he was ready to throw.
A crash ripped outside of the bar. The gang and the bar folk turned to the double swinging doors.
&n
bsp; Ridge and the bar crowd stood as the ground tables shook.
The runt with the bikers looked into the night. Pine trees rocked and their tops tossed to and fro beneath the clouds. The runt turned to the clan. “It’s only the wind,” he snorted.
A screech sliced the air.
*****
Blue glared at the pack. Each of the brethren snarled, mouths watering, bellies rumbling, ready to hunt. She looked at the moon, her body and paws taut. The silvery hue from the sky shone on her and the others, but only she began to change. Sleek fur retracted and was replaced by skin that was as smooth as alabaster. Fingernails shortened and paled as her now human legs. She saw the grimace on Gold’s face, part amazement, and part disbelief.
Game of Throbs Complete Series (Books 1-3) Page 42