Ok, found my thumb drive over the weekend, so the story of Jenna and Tom continues! (And this time, I copied it onto my computer, in case I misplace my thumb drive again...)
Like before, if you' like to catch up on the story so far, click on this link. Unlike before, it will take you to my personal page, where I'm compiling it into one story. Without further ado, I present a mating dilemma for Jenna and Tom:
That was one highly unusual female, Tom mused as he walked back to his patrol car. On the up-side, at least he had something positive to get the images from his last call out of his mind. Just when he thought he had he figured out, she did something that chewed his profiling efforts up and spit them back in his face. First, she was a drug smuggler. But not a willing one. Then maybe she was a willing one, but wasn’t trying to profit from it? That just didn’t make sense to his cop-trained mind. She had to be doing this for profit of some kind. He just needed to figure out what her goal was.
While his cop mind was confused, his canid mind was not the least bit conflicted. He was a stud dog at heart and she was a bitch in heat. Literally. He wanted her.
Tom shook his head as he carefully back into traffic and turned towards the station. Yeah, she was a shifter and if his nose was right—it usually was in these things—she was also a dog. But what kind, he had no real clue. Most of the canids he knew fell into two groups, canis lupis and canis lupis familiaris. This female defied classification even in this. She was not a classic wolf, not of any sup-class he knew, anyway. But she wasn’t familiaris—one of the ‘domestic’ breeds—either. It was like she was a bit of both but at the same time, not a cross breed between them.
Well, why not, he thought, chuckling. She was a drug mule who didn’t act like one. Why not be a non-hybrid wolf-dog, as well. One thing was for certain. The next few days were going to be interesting as he tried to figure her out, catch the ‘fat Aussie bastard’ of hers, and keep his pants safely over his butt. He may not know what she was, but with her heading into heat, if he didn’t she’d be having some German Shepard in her.
Get in, get the job done, get paid, get a new car, get out. That was how she’d planned it. Instead, she was shaking with need. Yeah, she knew before she headed out that she was beginning her heat cycle, but that should not have been a big deal. How was she supposed to know the first person she’d run into would be a dog shifter? Crap! And he was a cop. Double crap! She really didn’t need this right now.
The good part about being a dingo was that very few males could make her want to back up to them when she was in heat, so coming to Shifter Town USA should not have been a problem. This was Montana, so any canid shifters should have been timber wolves, gray wolves, or coyotes. Dingos were native to Australia, for all that she’d never been there. Her kind had evolved isolated from other wolves, so usually it had to be another dingo to get an in-heat female in the mood. Unless there was a large breed familiaris-type shifter around. Dingos, both normal and lycanthropic, would cross-mate with one if the need arose.
Well, the need was rising in her now that she’d gotten a good wiff of Officer McSexy. German Shepard, if her nose was reading his scent correctly—and it usually did. They were not a rare breed on any continent, after all. Just not what she was expecting here in Montana. Nothing to do but brazen it out, she thought as she began ‘searching’ for her mark. Play it cool, keep her butt covered and maybe drop by the drug store for some clove oil to mask her scent. As much as her traitorous body may want it, she didn’t need the complication of a litter of cop-pups at this point in her life. Not that life cared what she had planned, of course…