Pack Justice (Nature of the Beast Book 1)

by RJ Blain

  If the source of her fear lurked in the farmhouse, I would sink my fangs in deep and feed my hungering beasts. Removing the threats would be my first priority.

  I would deal with the rest as it happened, as was nature’s way.

  My human girl’s scent mingled with a male’s in the farmhouse. There were also two older scents, both human, but time had dulled them so much neither my wolf nor cheetah could determine much about them, except they had lived there for a long time before leaving.

  The male enraged my spirit beasts, for the most prevalent stench was that of his arousal. My wolf and cheetah desired a mate, and when we found her, we would build a den with her. We would mark her as ours, and she would be a willing partner to our desires and needs.

  Terror didn’t belong in a den, and the presence of the girl’s fear was an acrid undertone everywhere I went, which sent both of my spirit beasts into a frenzy, and I struggled to contain their need to act. Memories of hunting justice for the wronged gave me an advantage over both my beasts. While the cycle of survival was as natural as the changing of the seasons, there was no justice in murder, no matter how much I wanted to rip the male apart.

  The girl forgot about me while she prowled, peeking around every corner before entering any room. Making her way to a bedroom, she dug through one of the drawers, pulled out a bulging envelope, and shoved it in her back pocket. Blood smeared over everything she touched. When she turned to me, she pressed a finger to her lips, which I recognized as a human gesture to keep quiet.

  I followed at her heels, licking my chops as I wondered how far I could go driving away the male who frightened the human girl so much she had injured herself to escape him. He didn’t need all his blood, and a few bites wouldn’t kill him.

  My wolf believed in shared effort, and my cheetah enjoyed the idea of tearing the male’s thin skin to strips.

  The next room the girl led me to contained a massive, antique writing desk and safe. She checked out the window, inhaled, and let out her breath in a sigh. “When he finds out about this, he’s going to kill me.”

  My wolf’s alarm swept through me, and my cheetah, who was wiser to the ways of humans than my wolf, demanded action. Cheetahs were more independent than wolves, but their instincts overlapped, and to both of my spirit beasts, the human I had saved was still young.

  The young were guarded, protected, and cherished until they were old enough to be driven away to find their own place in the world.

  I turned my ears back, sat on my haunches, and watched, wondering what she was doing—and why. With trembling hands, she turned the dial of the safe, popping it open. I recognized several of the shapes as rifles, which she ignored, crouching down to dig in a basket tucked in the far back corner.

  The jangle of metal annoyed a low growl out of me. After she picked out several items, she closed the safe and spun the dial. Lifting her chin, she stared down her nose at me.

  “I should have done this the day Mom and Dad died,” she hissed, stomping by me. The bitter scent of anger mingled with guilt overwhelmed her fear. I decided it was a vast improvement over her terror, and I loped after her, wondering what she had taken from the safe.

  I’d find out soon enough, unless the girl lost her nerve.

  Outside, the driveway remained empty, and the girl wasted no time heading for the barn. It took her several long minutes to wrestle open one of the big doors.

  A large shape covered with a tarp waited inside, and rotting bales of hay were scattered across the floor in front of empty stalls. A few rusting pieces of equipment leaned against the walls. The clatter of metal on metal shifted my attention back to the girl, who had dumped the tarp to the side.

  Wolves and cheetahs had no use for cars, but I appreciated the car’s sleek lines, bright red paint, and chrome accenting on the wheels. The make and model eluded me, but I recognized the vehicle, and it stirred something in me.

  The girl opened both front doors and patted her leg. “Come.”

  Good and obedient dogs obeyed, so I trotted to her and ignored my wolf’s irritation at her assumption she could control us. The rich scent of leather, recently oiled, filled my nose.

  Before she could boss me around again, I hopped into the car and did my best to avoid tearing the soft leather. I barely fit on the seat, which amused me.

  Seat belts were designed for humans, but she buckled me in, and the straps pressed against my legs and chest. She shut the door and circled the car. In the time it took her to get behind the wheel, I had stepped out of the seatbelt and sat on it.

  Turning the keys in the ignition, my human coaxed the car to life and eased it out of the barn, parking it long enough to close the massive door. When she returned, she buckled in and stomped on the gas. Gravel hammered the barn, and the tires spun before finding traction. She zipped down the dirt road, leaving her den behind without looking back.

  A human might have believed she was determined and confident, but I knew better. Her scent betrayed her fear.

  The human drove in silence until after sunset. The gas tank was less than half full when she finally stopped, leaving me in the car while she headed into a big store. She slipped her injured hand in her pocket. I yawned and made myself as comfortable as I could in the confines of the sporty car. While I was large, I managed to curl up on the leather seat, turning so I could watch over the human once she returned.

  When she did, she carried several large bags with her, struggling with their weight. Most went into the trunk. She had a leather collar and leash with her when she got behind the wheel. “I hope you don’t mind camping out, Spots. I don’t have a credit card.”

  I thumped my tail against the seat in the hope of reassuring her. The concept of camping confused my wolf, but my cheetah’s excitement surged. He remembered camping, and memories of when I had two legs instead of four bubbled to the surface. My name hadn’t been Spots, then, but before the weight of a lifetime of memories could crash down on me, I thrust them away and hid from who and what I had once been.

  Spots was as good a name as any, and if it made the girl happy, I would carry it with pride. My cheetah disapproved, but I ignored him. Even as a wolf, the existence of my cheetah’s spirit beast branded my fur.

  I had spots in plenty, and I liked the simplicity of the name. No one would expect anything from a dog named Spots. The here and now was good enough for me.

  I didn’t have to remember, and my denial worried my spirit beasts. Neither protested my decision, but their presence in the back of my head chilled from their strengthening anxiety.

  I tolerated the girl putting the collar around my neck, listening to her mumble about how people couldn’t handle a big dog off leash. My wolf took offense to her commentary, but I restrained him before he could nip the human in rebuke.

  Biting wouldn’t reassure her I wasn’t a threat.

  She stopped long enough to fill the car with gas and buy food before she drove us deep into the desert to hide.

  Chapter Nine

  The spot the girl picked to camp bordered a national park. She hid the car in the shadow of a stone pillar jutting from the dry ground. I hovered at her side, flattening my ears as she pulled out a rectangular block wrapped in crinkly paper. She set it on the ground and lit it on fire.

  My wolf disliked the flames, but if I stayed close, it warmed my fur. Instead of a tent, all the girl had purchased was a sleeping bag, an extra blanket, and some pillows. My cheetah and I worried, and my wolf was puzzled by our concern.

  The unwanted memories of my human life roused. I liked camping in barren locations; it gave my cheetah room to run and hunt without humans nearby. Predators and other threats lurked in the desert, and her sleeping bag wouldn’t be enough to protect her from them.

  All it took was a snakebite or a scorpion’s sting to endanger a life. My cheetah’s cunning had spared me from bites or stings, but my human girl was unprepared for the wilds. She spread her bag out over the ground and sat on it, holding her hands o
ut over the small fire.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this for months,” she admitted, shuffling a little closer to the flames. “I didn’t want to go alone, and no one would want to go with me, even if I asked. I hate being alone.”

  My wolf understood the need for pack, and I understood the desire to run. The human memories once again surfaced. Somewhere behind me was Idette, likely hunting for me. If I had my way, I would never cross paths with her again.

  “But you can be my friend now, right? You’re a dog. You’re man’s best friend. I don’t have to be alone now.” The girl’s voice wavered, and her anguish tainted her scent. “Uncle sold everything to buy that stupid car. Mom and Dad worked so hard for the harvest, and it’s rotting. He’s ruined everything.”

  Death was a part of life, but my wolf understood the loss of pack. I, however, wondered what else lurked behind the girl’s words. My human life asserted its influence on me, and I remembered the victims I had sought justice for.

  So many had my human’s broken tone, afraid of hoping for peace from the terrors they had endured.

  Many of the victims I had tried to help shared one thing; they hid the most horrific truths of their trauma from everyone until they snapped.

  Sometimes, a client would break in a private session, allowing me to get them the help they truly needed. Other times, they would lose it in the middle of the trial, blurting all the things they hadn’t been brave enough to share when building their case. After justice was served, another war was waged. Invisible wounds festered, and even the strong fell prey to their inner demons, the ones a judge and jury couldn’t heal.

  I sat beside her and rested my chin on her knee. With a heavy sigh, she dug her fingers into my fur.

  “Why’d you stop me, you stupid dog?”

  I didn’t have an answer for her, and when she fell silent and stared into the flames, I sighed, wondering how I could help her.

  One day flowed into another, and when my human slept in the desert away from the road, I stood guard. During the days, she drove while I slept.

  I learned her name was Kimberly, and she hated herself for many things, her weakness and cowardice included. It was when she slept I discovered the truth, when her nightmares made her toss and turn.

  Her uncle had done a lot more than sell her parents’ things.

  My nose hadn’t lied to me in the farmhouse. Her hand healed, but the new scars reminded me of my human life and the things I had done to help victims like her find a measure of peace and healing.

  She needed far more help than I could give her, but without hands, all I could do was stay by her side and listen when she did find the courage to speak. In her silence, I heard all her doubts, her misery, and her hopelessness.

  For her, I suffered through kibble when I wasn’t able to hunt.

  The full moon was on the rise when she approached a smog-shrouded city. I recognized it, and my cheetah’s excitement surged.

  I was near home, the city I had grown up in, where I had first met my cheetah so many years ago. Kimberly remained quiet, driving deep into the heart of the city, and the confident way she navigated through the streets told me she was familiar with the roads.

  Los Angeles was separated into different bureaus for law enforcement purposes. When Kimberly ditched the car in the worst part of the West Bureau, I worried. She kept her cash, some clothes, and little else in her backpack, leaving the rest in the trunk of her uncle’s sports car. Once she triple checked everything was in order, she tossed the keys on the seat and left the vehicle unlocked.

  I estimated it would be gone in less than five minutes.

  Kimberly clipped the leash to my collar, and I sighed my resignation to my role as a service dog. The claim was smart on her part; service dogs could go anywhere. I liked the fact I could stay close to my charge, but I didn’t like the deceit.

  I was too large to classify as a regular dog, and when I saw my reflection in the glass windows of the shops, all I saw was a wolf with a cheetah’s coat. Instead of slipping through society unseen, I drew attention to Kimberly.

  In the city, there were too many smells for me to sift through. Wolves, cheetahs, and men who could turn into animals didn’t belong with so many humans. Service dogs kept quiet, so I couldn’t even whine my dismay when people stared at me.

  We made it three blocks before I caught the wrong attention. The police cruiser didn’t turn on its lights, although the cops parked close enough I had no doubt they were scoping out Kimberly and me.

  “Crap.” Kimberly tightened her grip on my leash.

  The cops got out of their car. I recognized them, although their names escaped me. My wolf didn’t name things in the same way humans did, and my cheetah was too far above normal people to care if they had a name.

  If I could have spoken English, I would have cursed, too. My memories of human life came and went, but the two men worked the same district I had.

  I wasn’t just close to home; I was home.

  If I dared to delve into my human memories, I’d probably remember their names along with everything else. If I let that part of my life back in, I had the feeling I wouldn’t be able to escape it again.

  “Good afternoon, Miss,” one of the cops said, stepping onto the sidewalk while his partner remained by the car. “That’s a really nice dog.”

  “Thanks, sir. He’s my service dog,” Kimberly said, and in her nervousness, she bumped against me. Turning my head, I licked her hand before bumping her with my nose.

  “What breed?”

  “He’s a mutt, sir.”

  I flicked an ear back at the insult, although I couldn’t deny I was a bit of a mutt. What did they call a wolf and a cheetah with the misfortune of being blended together? The human part of me didn’t help any, either.

  “Do you have his papers?”

  Papers were a human affair, and I was aware of my spirit beasts’ interest. California had strict rules on animals, and if anyone found out I was a wolf, I would be classified as an exotic. Kimberly would be questioned at the very least.

  I turned my full attention to my human’s hand with its long, pale scars.

  The police could offer her the help I couldn’t. I perked my ears forward and wondered how to draw the man’s attention to her plight without me being shot in the process.

  “I don’t have them with me, sir. I’m from Kentucky.”

  Maybe she was being honest, but Kimberly wasn’t going to need my intervention to end up taking a ride to the police station. Her grubby attire and backpack screamed runaway, although my presence was likely confusing the police officer.

  “Where are your parents?”

  Kimberly sucked in a breath, and grief overwhelmed all of her other scents. I whined and bumped her hand with my nose. Her fingers spasmed.

  The cop glanced to his partner, a gesture so subtle Kimberly didn’t seem to notice it. While there were bad cops in the world, most of the ones I knew were the good guys, and no one wanted to find the bad cases, the ones involving children who should have had better lives.

  “They’re in Kentucky, sir.” The pain in her voice hurt me, and the cop’s expression softened.

  “Do they know you’re here?”

  It was a gentle way of asking if she was a runaway, a way to build trust without crossing too many lines. While the cop could have taken her in for possessing an exotic animal, he didn’t push the issue. I wagged my tail and perked my ears forward.

  “They don’t know anything anymore. They’re dead, sir,” she mumbled.

  The cop’s eyes widened. “You came here from Kentucky on your own? Do you have a guardian here with you? Is there someone you want us to call for you?”

  Over the years, I’d witnessed countless people crack under the strain of their lives. Kimberly trembled and wavered, reminding me of the prey I flushed out of hiding. Running wouldn’t help her.

  “I only need Spots.”

  I put my ears back and hung my head at the humiliatin
g name. It was one thing for Kimberly to call me Spots, but was telling the cops my dog name necessary? I lifted my paw and draped it over my nose.

  My cheetah’s amusement washed through me while my wolf howled his disgust in my head.

  “Your dog’s name is Spots?” The cop crouched so he was eye level with me. “Seems like a smart fellow, your Spots. How long have you had him?”

  “I got him after my parents died.”

  While it was a truth, it was also a lie, and I was impressed by her calm delivery. Then again, if her nightmares were any indication of the reality of her situation, she had done a lot of lying to avoid her uncle.

  The cop’s partner came around the car and opened the back door nearest the curb. I perked my ears forward, grabbed my leash in my teeth, and ran for the vehicle. Kimberly’s weight pulled the leash out of my grip. Choking and wheezing, I lowered my head and dragged the girl to the cruiser.

  Her protest came as a shrill cry, and she released my leash. I staggered at the sudden lack of restraint. I recovered and lunged into the car, rocking the vehicle as my full weight hit the seat. I sat, panted, and thumped my tail in my enthusiasm.

  Both cops gawked at me while Kimberly wailed her dismay.

  “Spots, what has gotten into you? I’m so sorry, sir. He’s never like this, I swear.”

  “Miss, why don’t you come with us? You look tired, and your dog looks like he could use some lunch. We need to verify his paperwork. It’s a pain, I know, but it won’t take long. We can make sure he has the right papers so no one else hassles you.”

  The cop was slick, I had to give him that; he offered help without threats, and he kept his tone quiet, calm, and confident.

  Kimberly needed help, and the police could offer it to her. I kept thumping my tail against the seat. My wolf wanted to warble an invitation, but I couldn’t remember if real dogs made such noises, so I remained silent.