Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.
Gosh, my current schedule doesn't work well for posting. But here it is, finally written. Dugger is on mission for Dante, and watching out for Ewan. 'Cause, after all, a threat is a threat, no matter the low-level players. Fate can always throw in the 'monkey or ape' wrench.
Yeah, righto, did he shift to human?
The rank smell of stale, over-fried food assaulted Dugger's nostrils. Bugger! Humans doin' the horizontal dance filled his nose, too. Yeah, just as he'd figured by the short ride, they now rolled through the parking lot at the Rocky Top Motel.
Dugger mind-sent the info to his sheila, Symone. 'Hoover,' she telepathed the reminder, 'Dante's watcher at the motel.'
'Yeah, got it, luv. Time for action jackson. We're stoppin' and the scumbags are about to get restless on Ewan's ass.'
His sheila, being the trained warrioress she was, didn't answer. She simply kept the dial tuned to their connection.
Dugger did his own tuning in, his ears high on his dingo head. Sensing Ewan's decision to go coyote on the motley crew, and his dick-on-a-stick attraction to brainy gal, Dugger merely watched and listened as the wannabe monster hunters hustled their captured 'werewolf' out of the van.
With the slam of the van's back door, Dugger focused his senses on the direction of their footsteps. Yeah, righto, did he shift to human? By the odor, there were clothes in the duffel bags he could hijack.
Or was it bloody smarter to stay dingo, and hunt down the big-muck blighter who was running this piss-for-grins show. Scat logic, and body language, told Dugger these drongo males were followers, not leaders.
Yeah, he'd seen this sort of catch-the-werewolf scene too many times before. Bugger, though, that didn't eliminate the potential threat to Talbot's Peak.
Instinct slid like a right knife through Dugger's belly. 'Wait. Stay a turtle,' he told himself. Someone eyed the van. Yeah, a safari hunter type, a trophy killer by nature. The vibes sizzled Dugger to his toe pads.
No use exposin' himself to the enemy. Dugger counted down the minutes automatically until he heard, "Mr. C., the target is secured. Givin' us trouble, though. He's got a big 'f' mouth. Needs shutting, until he's willing to talk to us."
An auto door opened, then slammed shut. A heavier tread made tracks in the same direction Ewan had been un-properly escorted. So, the bad boss man was this Mr. C.
Dugger trained his ears and his nose, inhaling the trophy killer's rancid garlic stench. What? Did the buzzard-brain really believe in that made-for-human's myth about vamps?
Grinning wide, Dugger dropped his blade, then snapped it back up between his teeth. Time to blow this van of clueless apes. Apes, monkeys, yeah, the common lingo in Dante's biker bar. 'Course, DNA-wise, that had proven to be mostly false propaganda by the global Big Bads – given the real genetic profiles were wider apart than the Nile river. Behavior-wise, now that was another ball of snakes.
Dugger squirmed his way out the duffel bag pile. Figurin' dingo was safer, even with a blade in his jaws, he hopped into the driver's seat. A deft pull of his untrimmed nails unlocked the door. Using his paw like an abbreviated hand, Dugger cracked it open, then slipped outside.
With his hind leg, Dugger kicked the door shut, then crawled beneath the van. He scanned for several moments before darting across the parking lot toward a sparse evergreen bush beneath the window where Ewan was likely being grilled. Yeah, maybe like a shrimp on the barbie.
Dugger grinned at himself.
'Now for a mental photo of –' Headlights, the shouts of teenagers over-medicated on beer interrupted Dugger as he raised upward to peer between the crack in the heavy curtains. He slouched behind the cube-shaped evergreen right quick as a bushbaby.
Dugger heard the curtains pulled together sharply. Crickey! There went his shot at an easy look at this cast of un-super villains.
By the walkabout gods, though, he had their individual scents. And from what Dugger was scenting now, Ewan didn't need his helping paw. Not yet.
Yeah, speaking of the un-super, one of the motley crew was creeping up on him. Dugger figured the great monster hunter had seen neon lights flash off his large blade.
With a grin, Dugger burst out of hiding. He charged straight toward the hulking linebacker type. Before the bloke could help it, he briefly shrieked like a little girl.
"Hey!" the shout followed. "The monster's got an effing buddy." To his credit, the un-green hulk whipped out a silver blade, and stood his ground.
Dugger liked that bloody better. He increased his speed with each stride.
Leaping as the blade slashed at him, Dugger clawed his way up the blighter's tree-trunk leg, then up his broad chest fast as a mad cat. Holy dooley!. Oh yeah, his light body weight, and his quick reflexes always served him right.
Before the silver blade could catch his hide, ripping away chunks of fur -- and the hulk was certainly trying to slash him a good one -- Dugger climbed up his beefy face. He sank his claws in deep.
Once on top of Sluggo's head, Dugger sprang landing on the roof of a nearby car. From there his escape was a piece of cake, as his sheila was fond of saying -- yeah, when she aimed her rifle, and took out a practice target no one else could touch.
The question of the day: should he make contact with Hoover? Let the wolf know what was happening under his superior sniffer...
Have a Magickal Shapeshifting New Year...
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance