Saturday, May 31, 2014

Vacation Time for Gill Begins

The small islands off the coast got Gill’s attention even from the plane window.  Now that he could see them from the sands of the beach near his hotel, he marveled at the rocky exteriors each pillar contained.  No two looked alike.  Just like squirrels and other shape shifters.  They might look the same.  They really weren’t.  When he started loping things together and making hasty decision, Gill knew vacation time had arrived.

The flight proved worthwhile.  He dozed for a couple of hours and made notes.  Notes on the campaign to come.  One that he wasn’t overly worried about.  Still another term in office and he needed an agenda.  Something he could work towards rather than off the cuff.  Though this term was not bad.

Waves washed across the sands coming close to his feet.  The roar as they approached reminded him of the birds rushing upward at dawn full of energy as the sun rose.  Then the rush of quiet as the dawn broke and the clouds cleared.  Yes, time to reflect and decide.  For now Tyburn and Rachel were talking instead of fighting.  Louie and Bettina were working together along with the occasional night out.  Romance flooded the Peak.  Was his luck going to change?

High from the top floor of the hotel, she watched.  She noticed him from the moment he walked through the door.  Lean and compact, like the male in her dreams.  Dreams that left her lusting and needing release.  Release her worn out vibrator wasn’t providing.  How long would he be here?  Did he feel the lure?  The chemistry that pulsed each time he walked by.  Gods and Goddesses, she prayed he did. 


Happy weekend Gang!

Gill's vacation adventures are off and running.  I hope he has a good time and finds what he is looking for.  The Spice Homestead is gearing up for ours.  May the start of summer find you and yours enjoying time together resting and relaxing.

Until next week,


Friday, May 30, 2014


Nick looked over this week’s layout on the computer screen and liked what he saw.  The articles were all well placed and wrapped around the graphics.  There was no unnecessary white space and the headers and leads were appropriately sized. This week’s edition of the gazette was going off without a hitch, which meant, something else was about to implode.

Yeah, that went against the whole power of positive thinking mantra, but so far in his life, this was the norm.  Good in one area meant difficulty in the other.

“Hey there, bossman.” Penny stuck her head into his office and addressed him with her usual irreverent respect. “Your pops on line two.”

“Thanks Penny.”

“Penelope, boss-ass, Penelope,” she said while closing the door.

Nick grabbed the handset and braced himself for the coming problem.  As the pack leader, everything came back to him to work out…even issues from the previous leader.  “Hey Pop, what’s going on?”

“Boy, get your mangy ass over to the Bighorn Diner and take control of your woman!”

“Excuse me? What did you say, old man?”

“You heard me fine.  Right now, that lovely young lady carrying my grandpup…who should be my daughter-in-law, by the way…is making trouble for my wife at the diner.  Go fix it now or I’ll nip your backside like I used to when you were young.”

“You could try old…”

“Nicolas, please…go take care of Ziva.”

Shite, Vernon McMahon rarely called him by his full first name.  His mom had called him Nicolas always, but dad only did it when he was concerned about something. “Yes, Sir.  I’ll head over now.”

“Good.” Click.

Nick hung up the phone and left via the door in his office.


Ziva pointed to her favorite yellow fruit from her seat at the front counter and hoped to hell she wasn’t drooling in public. “I’m thinking more pineapple, yep, pineapple.”

“Um, okay, Miss Ziva, but then you won’t be able to taste the mango.”

“Oh shite, you’re right.  Definitely add more mango as well.  Yep, just like that.  Hey is there a reason the strawberry flapjacks are taking so long?” Ziva asked, nibbling on the delicacy from the jar in front of her.

“Um, well, I…I,” the waitress stuttered while looking a little green around the gills. That was literal as the lovely lady helping her was a fish in her alternate form.

“That’s okay, Luna, I’ll talk to Ziva if you finish making her mango/pineapple smoothie.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Hey Elly, guess what…I’m finally keeping stuff down!  And man am I hungry.”

“That’s wonderful, dear.  I’m so glad.”

“So did I come at the wrong time for some strawberry flapjacks?”  Ziva raised her open jar and smiled at Elly McMahon.  “I even brought my own topping.”

“Yes, dear, about that…”

“Holy Lupa, Miss Elly, what died up on in here?”

Ziva turned to see Arglen, a lone wolf trucker who’d been sniffing after her aunt for years, bellow as he walked in the door.

“Arglen, that is not necessary…”

“Smells like dog farts.” The loud mouth barked. “It’s gonna make it hard to eat your delicious flappers.”

Ziva stood, her jar in hand and made her way over to the irritating brute.  “That was rude, Arglen.  There is no bad smell in here, apologize to Miss Elly. Now!” She shook her hand at him, splashing some of the contents of her lunch down his shirt.

“Fuc…dging hell, Ziva, it’s that stuff that smells and you got it all over me…what is wrong with you?  Nose out of whack?”

“My nose is fine, Arglen, this is delicious and it will compliment my strawberry flapjacks nicely.”

Ziva looked around as the diners in the seats around her all grimaced and gaged.  Elly shook her head with a half-smile and grabbed a to-go box from the server window.  Luna had her smoothie ready, also in a to-go glass and Nick came through the door, quickly covering his nose and mouth with his hand.

“Ziva-love.” He sauntered closer and took the jar from her, covering it with his hands and moved to the counter where she’d left the top. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting something to eat.”  She smiled at her alpha wolf, thrilled to finally be telling him the good news. “I’m keeping my food down now and I’m starved!”

“That’s wonderful….but, what are you ordering?”

“Strawberry flapjack, hash browns, a bowl of oatmeal with raisins and apples…yum, and a mango/pineapple smoothie.  Why?”

“What’s this for then?”

Ziva smiled as Nick waved her jar around.  “I’m going to sprinkle it on the flapjacks. I can’t wait!”
The room at large groaned and pushed their plates away, throwing her for a loop.  What was wrong with everyone?

“But it’s, it’s…”

“Sauerkraut. Wonderfully delicious sauerkraut.”

“Ziva, my love, you take the, um, sauerkraut and head outside.  Don’t open it until you’re outside.  I’ll get the rest of your food.”


“We’ll have a picnic.”

“Awesome!”  Ziva turned toward the door, but still heard Nick and Elly’s whispered comments.

“Sauerkraut? Is she okay, Elly?”

“It’s just a craving, Nick.  It’s an odd one, sure, but it will pass in time.”

“But will my sense of smell ever be the same?”

Ziva didn’t listen to the rest of the exchange and focused on taking another bite of her cabbage-y treat.  Craving, huh.  Not likely. They just didn’t know what was good. 


Ha! Much as I like sauerkraut, I really can't imagine it with flapjacks, oatmeal and a smoothie.  I was lucky when I was pregnant with my Darling Diva...I craved steak, peanut butter and OJ.  Not at the same time though.

How about ya'll?  Any strange cravings you care to share?  :)

Have a great weekend!

Thursday, May 29, 2014

Witch's Moon, Chapter 4.2

Sorry about the late post. give me a three day weekend and I spend the next two weeks running a day behind! Here's the next chunk of the story. As always, if you want to read up on the rest of the story, the posts are linked in order on my page.

On a side note, this scene gave me great fits of giggles to write. It may or may not get tweaked a bit before the final release. We'll have to see. 

* * * * * * * *

I couldn’t blame people for getting out of his way. Mooney McMahon is a force of nature in his snug, low slung jeans and skin tight shirt. He had a beautiful body and every ripple of muscle showed as he stalked toward me. I tried to tamp down on the little quiver of lust starting up in my bully but it didn’t work. His body language was advertising just how good he’d be in bed and my inner goddess was listening loud and clear.
When it became clear that he was headed right for me—after I made it clear where I was—the whispering began. That scrawny little money is hooking up with a McMahon? What would a wolf like that see in a freak like her? I see the McMahon Beta is still acting the fool and running around with food. I ignored it as best as I could. I’ve always been an odd duck, so to speak. Tolerated for the most part but never quite accepted. My ego could handle a little more backlash. The side remarks also helped to cool my libido down, so that was good.
I started to slide over to make room for him since he wasn’t heading for the empty side and I had staked claim to one of the few booths that wasn’t horse shoe shaped, but Mooney apparently had other thoughts. He snagged my wrist and pulled me out of the booth before slipping into my spot and dragging me onto his lap. It all happened so fast that I barely even saw it happen despite being the person he had manhandled!
“Settle down, babe,” he murmured in my ear as he stretched one long leg out along the back of the bench and tucked me into the crock of his arm like I was a giant kewpie doll. “Folks gonna get curious if we sit across from each other and whisper through the performance. Nobody’s gonna say anything about us whispering if you’re sitting on my lap. Thanks for the brew, by the way,” he said as he snagged the bottle of MGD off the table. “How did you know this was my favorite.”
Score! I thought happily. I reminded myself not to get too comfy. This was all for show. I wasn’t really his girl, even if I wanted to be in a teeny little corner of my mind. I leaned over and grabbed my own drink before shrugging.
“I made an educated guess. You are a normal, All American kind of guy who drinks his coffee black, eats his steak rare, and loves football. I decided that meant you probably like domestic beer and most guys who like domestic, like either MGD or Coors.”
“Good guess, then, ‘cause I hate that Rocky Mountain horse piss.”
I choked on the swallow of hard sider I hadn’t yet swallowed. “Rocky Mountain horse piss?” I asked incredulously. He just grin at me and took another deep pull on his beer, almost emptying it. He raised his bottle and shook it at a passing waitress who ogled him, me, and then him and me, before shooting him a startled smile and scurrying off to get Mooney his next beer.
“Damn, that went down smooth!” he said as he finished draining the bottle and set it on the table. “So, were you able find anything of interest while I played tag with Ghan’s boys?”
“Yeppers,” I replied somewhat tensely. “Not the book, but something.”
“What kind of something?” he asked, sounding concerned. He smiled up at the waitress when she set two more bottles of MGD on the table in front of him. I was pleasantly surprised when she set a bottle of the hard cider I’d been drinking down in front of me. I smiled my thanks to her, making a mental note to leave a nice tip for her. Everyone else here, from the patrons to the staff, had been kind of stand-offish to me if not outright rude. I knew this turnabout was because I was now sitting with—or rather on—a wolf from a well-known pack, but still. She also didn’t try to make googly eyes at Mooney. Just then, some music started and the curtain draping the stage began undulating. I glanced up before answering and promptly forgot all about what we had been talking about.
For the next five minutes, I sat transfixed as Gypsy Rose danced almost nude with the biggest python I had ever seen. I say ‘danced’ because there really isn’t a word in the English language that could define the artistry of the performance. It seemed almost a crime to even try to label it. It was kind of like belly dancing in that both she and the snack undulated around the stage. But it was more. She was employing true magic as she moved. Every flutter of her abdomen, every sway of her hips cause energy to swirl around her like dust dancing on a barely-there breeze before drifting off to float amongst her enthralled audience. It was the most incredible thing I have ever seen.
And then the snake turned into Lamar, the Gossip Queen’s right hand snake.
And he had no dangly bits.
Wow, what a mood breaker. Oh, holy crap, that was something I really could have done without ever seeing. A deep, sarcastic chuckle broke me out of my reverie. I looked away to find none other than Dante Hancock himself standing in front of our booth. I glanced down at the very large alpha wolf almost reflexively. Yep, he had a bulge down there so I didn’t have to worry about Moon Dog looking like a Ken doll beneath the sheets. The sarcastic chuckle turned to dark mirth and I blushed, realizing too late that Dante had caught me scoping his package.
I glanced up at Mooney to get his take on this only to realize he had tightened the arm he had draped around my shoulders in a display of possessiveness. He wasn’t glaring at Dante, exactly but he didn’t look entirely friendly, either. Damn, I hadn’t meant to offend Mooney. To be strictly honest, Dante Hancock with all his sleek muscles and long dark hair didn’t really appeal to me. It had been honest curiosity brought on by the shock of seeing someone I knew but didn’t like in the nude, only to find out that he had not visible ‘he’ parts.
“If your lady is finished with the show, your presence has been requested in the main conference room,” Dante said with an evil smirk. Mooney took the time to finish the last of his current beer—the third one since he sat down—before answering.
“I’m sure she’d done looking around to see if everyone who works here is a swing dick,” he said with his patented smarmy smile. “’course, she already knows what kind or hardware I’m packing, so no harm, no foul.”
I cringe at the blatant insult but Dante let it slide right off. He did step back so that I didn’t have to come face to face with his, er, hardware when I scooted out of the booth. Mooney didn’t seem to rush to get out but he wasted no time drawing up beside me and draping his arm over my shoulder again, either. He picked up my untouched second drink and smiled.
“Lead on, Kimosabe.”

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

The Demon Dog Angel Amongst Us

Pic ~ Mark Lindsay of Paul Revere and the Raiders. He's a look alike of today's hero, Dhraki.

End of May howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

If you're intrigued by the realm of angels and demons, this flash scene might be for you.

The Demon Dog Angel Amongst Us

The Good Lord knew -- as well as Satan, of course -- being a half breed angel and demon dog shifter had its share of gigundis and wacky challenges. Long ago...during the turn of the century...when the world spun like a maddened dervish teetering between great enlightenment or the darkness of war and oppression...Dhraki had gone renegade.

Disgusted down to his demon-angel bones, he'd refused service to the Light Force and the Dark Side. Why waste his eternal life, such as it was...even with the constant, high-strange harshness of it all...on this backwater, prison planet?

Okay-yips...because Dhraki despised lying, including lying to himself, he corrected his own thoughts. Yeah-barks of truth, since the 'age of the garden' when Eve had been cruelly seduced into producing an heir to the dark throne, Earth had been quarantined by the Light Council...the once paradise planet lost.

Yet not lost...even with he unending war in the heavens...the brutal battle between light and dark where nothing was ever resolved...would never be...not until the final hour on the cosmic time clock. And, holy of unholies, that hour could not be foretold.

Unwelcome in his home realms, Dhraki searched for a place to belong. Because, despite his interventions on behalf of those in need, the human world didn't want to know about his existence -- given their religions were not his friend, to put it walking-through-hellfire lightly.

Now, like a tourist, Dhraki strolled the streets of Talbot's Peak, currently filled with the lunch crowd. The small growing town had gained quite the reputation on the underworld-net as a haven for not only shapeshifters but supernatural types like him. Yip-snort, not quite like him -- from the bowels of hell and the glorious on high.

With keen interest, Dhraki scanned the various businesses and shops, and surreptitiously studied those he passed by. His angel side sucked in the kaleidoscopic-colored vibes put off by everyone around him, seen and unseen...while his demon dog side dined on their distinct smells.

Pausing in his stride, Dhraki watched a were-squirrel in human form scamper -- travel bags in hand -- down the steps of the mayor's mansion. After tossing the bags in the back of the car, he hopped inside the passenger seat, as if life itself was about to grab his tail, then devour him whole.

Must be Mayor Gil, Dhraki thought, then shoved his hands deep inside the pockets of khakis. Although, there'd been no info about his animal form on the underworld-net. "Intriguing," Dhraki muttered. "He must have an 'in' with the predators, and the werewolves in charge." 

"New in town?" a feminine voice asked behind him, one that resonated to Dhraki's core.

He knew before spinning around that the woman sensed his angelic side. The sacred fire flowed within her veins as well. And her tantalizing pink-rose scent bloomed around him, pure yet infinitely wise.

Once Dhraki faced her, surprise at her appearance caught him off guard, and he felt his brows raise to the brim of his rakish, down-under hat. That is, until he realized she'd intentionally disguised herself as a middle-aged woman -- non-threatening in the extreme.

Dhraki stuck his hand out in the friendly fashion of humans. "My name is Dhraki. I just got into town and was taking in the sights. You are?"

"You're not here to cause any trouble, are you?" She one-eyed him, and Dhraki witnessed the avenging angel. His demon-dog side almost withered on the spot. 

Almost...he gathered his force, and grinned. "Trouble is my middle name at times," he bantered, hoping that would stop her flame like penetration of him. "No," Dhraki quickly added. "I'm a benign sort. Unless attacked."

She visibly relaxed, obviously hearing the truth of his words. "I'm known as Kimilia here. Kim for short."

The softest hand he'd ever felt met his. And when her grip matched his, sparks leaped up Dhraki's arm. But he didn't release her hand. The demon dog howled with fiery rapture.

"A pleasure to meet you, Kimilia. How long have you been in Talbot's Peak?"

She smiled, merely a small lift of her lips. Yet her features brightened, her beauty exposed for a fraction of time. Dhraki's breath blasted back inside him at the sight.

"I arrived about a year ago," she answered, her riveting silver-lavender eyes still assessing him. "My niece owns the ice cream shop... just two blocks down. We have quite the good business these days." 

Reluctance ripped his inner hide, but Dhraki released her hand. "Too early in the day for ice cream?" he asked, simply to keep her talking with him.

"I was on my way. If you're careful with that demon hellfire of yours, and promise not to melt the ice cream, I'll make you a volcano fudge sundae."

Her singsong voice, her melodic vibe twined around Dhraki and owned him down to his flaming core.

"You know," he murmured, then gave her an audacious doggy wink. "I haven't had a better offer in ages."

In a blink, Kimilia's face transformed to a somberness Dhraki had rarely observed in his long life. "What's wrong?" The question poured out of him.

"Full disclosure," she whispered only for his ears. Kimilia paused, her gaze flashing yet beautifully ephemeral. "I am in need of protection. When I first sensed your frequencies, I thought you might be one of 'his' dark angels on my trail. Or a hellhound who sniffed me out. With the shape of things to come...on Earth, I..."

As gently as he knew how, Dhraki took hold of his angel's arm. He gentlemanly wrapped it around his. "How about that volcano fudge sundae? Then we'll talk. I can be quite the ferocious guard dog."

"You've gone renegade, haven't you?" she softly asked, as they walked side by side.

"Thank God for the renegades," he teased in a low growl.

"Thank God for avenging angels," she returned, her tone solemn, much too solemn.


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side ...


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Monday, May 26, 2014

... or not

“Bugger me,” Dugger swore.

Ewan would have gladly, had he thought it would do any good. Or knew what it meant. It wasn’t going to change things.

Here in what should have been the center of Damien Hancock’s hive they had found absolutely squat. Zero. Zilch. Nada and loose change. No guards, no scientists, no mutant monsters. A fat lot of nothing greeted Ewan and Dugger behind every door they tried. In one huge chamber they did find a set of eight-foot clear plastic cylinders lining the walls, but these were empty too. The offshoot rooms they explored were filled with even less of the same. They stank of exotic chemicals and wolf adrenaline, all of it at least a week old.

“Shit,” Ewan said.

“Thought I just said that.”

“American subtitles. Where is everybody?”

“Y’got me, mate. Looks like the whole place has gone walkabout. Must’ve happened right after Dante’s spy lit out. Hey! Where you going?”

“Back to the flying saucer.” She wasn’t here. She wasn’t going to be here. The van and the wolves who had taken her weren’t coming here. They were headed to wherever Damien Hancock had moved his pet scientist. That was where Ewan needed to be, not this empty nest.

“Hang on a mo. My sniffer’s got something.”

Ewan reluctantly retraced his steps. Now he caught it also, a fresher smell than the fading traces they’d encountered so far. Human, somewhat nervous, and close by.

Gun out, Dugger led the way. “You want to kick the door in? I hear it’s the American way.”

He’d pretty much lost heart by now. “Nah.”

“Suit yourself.” Dugger swung the door wide.

Two white-coated science types sat at a table long enough for a dozen, in what had probably been the lab’s cafeteria up until a week ago. They were drinking coffee and listlessly playing cards. Both leaped to their feet when Dugger and Ewan stepped in.

“Uh, hi?” said the skinny one in the thick glasses. “Are you the new owners?”

“Depends,” Dugger said. “What happened to the old owners?”

“No clue,” the skinny one’s stockier buddy said. “Dr. Morloxian called a meeting one morning, told us he was going into business for himself, packed up his experiments and split. We tried to get hold of Mr. Hancock, but he never talks to us. I hate this absentee owner crap.”

“He could’ve left his harem,” Glasses muttered. “We worked hard. We deserve something for that.”

“Where’d Morloxian go?” Ewan demanded.

“Search me,” Glasses said. “He just up and left. Maybe he got a better offer from somebody.” He eyed Dugger’s gun nervously. “Are you the FBI? Are we prisoners?”

“From what I hear, there were close to two hundred people here,” Dugger said. “They take off too?”

“Some,” Stocky said. “A few went with Morloxian, but most of us didn’t. He’s brilliant and all, but really chintzy. Try squeezing a paycheck out of him. The rest of us hung around, hoping to hear from Hancock, but so far he’s been unreachable. I’m signing up for unemployment tomorrow.” He too eyed Dugger’s gun. “I mean, if it’s okay.”

“No worries, mate. I know somebody wants to talk to you bright young lads. Probably offer you jobs. Interested?”

“Hell yeah,” Stocky said. “This place sucks. It smells like wet dog all the time.”

“You said he had a harem,” Ewan said.

Dugger slanted a look at him. “That’s your takeaway?”

“Morloxian did,” Glasses said morosely. “We weren’t allowed to touch them. He kept them locked up. Had to. There was only one other woman here, and she ran off the second she got the chance. The mutants,” he explained to their blank expressions. “All the mutants were male.”

“No she-wolves?” Dugger mused. “No wonder they’re so bloody vicious. Bet if she scented a sheila—”

He broke off and stared at Ewan with a growing horror nowhere near the size of Ewan’s own. Dugger didn’t know about Maureen’s wolf-shifter genes. Morloxian couldn’t either. The sexually-frustrated mutant werewolves would pick up on it in seconds. Once they did—

“Right, then,” Dugger said. He motioned with his gun. “Say g’bye to the nice lab, mates. We’re moving out.”

Ewan bit down on his mounting panic. “Double time,” he agreed.

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Tranquility or Storm before the Fire???

Gill didn’t know who needed the vacation worse.  He or Talbot’s Peak.  The Beer-Food Festival came off without too many problems.  He wanted no more brewing, tasting, or food preparation for a few days.  Time was passing too fast until campaigning would start up again.  Time to relax was now.  

He looked at the tickets for Palm Beach setting on his desk.  Time to pack and rush to the airport if he made it out the door without anyone wanting one more thing from him.  Blackie was at Rachel’s.  Tyburn was off with Louie on a supply buying trip.  Hadley and Ranger were out in the woods doing pack things.  And there was the invitation to the nude beach that appeared delighting from the brochure.  Rachel’s titters at a sunburned squirrel scampering through town reminded Gill to purchase sunscreen.  Nudity had its great moments, but roasted crisp anatomy parts didn’t.  His groin was going to remain pale just like his arse would too.  His pale blue bikini swim along with several pairs of shorts, t-shirts, and unmentionables filled his suitcase.  Sneakers and flip flops along with his Hawaiian Aloha towel laid on his bed at home waiting for their addition to the interior pile.  Yup, he’d earned this vacation and he was gone.  Going, going, gone!  Last stop was the bookstore and then home to dump the last items in the suitcase and zip it closed.

Gill grabbed his car keys and the plane tickets off his desk. Two last clicks secured his computer.  Even Rachel didn’t know his password.  The Peak could run without him for two weeks.  Even Mayor’s deserved time off.  Sun, surf, and sand look out!  Gill on vacation started now!

Happy Weekend Gang!

I'm busy with preparations for my own vacation happening soon.  Overtime at work has me dealing with long days and the occasional migraine.  Take time to take care of yourself and spend time with you spices and loves.  DP, DP's Gal Pal and I are off to for vacation in a few weeks.  The Spice Homestead is gearing up and working to be ready to relax and write amongst other things.  

How are your summer plans coming along?  Remember to share a good book or two with your loves and spice as you relax enjoying the warm weather and time off.  I know I am!

Until Next Week,


Wednesday, May 21, 2014

We take a short pause for editing


We pause our regularly scheduled programming because the author felt the need to rewrite it and hasn't finished editing.

In other news, you will get the next part of Witch's Moon next week, after I get done editing it. I ended up rewriting almost all of chapter 4 because I didn't get the bar quite right and it turns out that my original MS depended quite heavily on there being lots of entrances into the club beneath the bar.

Instead, I offer you a little bit of random flash fiction that is also not edited but isn't part of a book. It is inspired by how Damien Hancock's mad scientist might have gotten ahold of his initial test subjects. I didn't take it any farther than this scene because I'm enjoying Pat's mad story too much to want to interfere with it.

Anywho, enjoy!


Hank was laying on his belly, trying to be as still as possible not because he wanted to avoid detection but because every muscle twitch shot flaming agony through his veins. Something was very, very wrong. Something other than the damage one might have expected after falling through a week spot in a floor. He'd fallen maybe thirty feet, so he shouldn't be hurting like this. He was a werewolf. A fall like that onto concrete could kill a human but it shouldn't have done him any real harm. His leg twitched involuntarily and the resulting agony let him know that "shouldn't have" didn't apply to him in this situation.

He woke up some time later, disconcerted because he hadn't been aware of passing out. He also noted that he couldn't move. At all. He then became aware that the pain was gone and that he was cold. He must be dying, he realized. It was difficult to kill a werewolf but not impossible. Clearly he had taken some damage to his spine and just as clearly, that damage must have involved silver. Maybe he'd been shot?

He didn't remember being shot. He'd been running as fast as he could without making any noise. He thought maybe he'd stumbled at some point, staggering a few steps before falling through a week spot in the floor. Then excruciating pain and passing out.

He was awake now, so he must not have bled out. That ex-nayed being shot. The more he thought about it the more obvious it became. Some asshole had darted him. Silver nitrate in liquid form could be loaded into a tranq dart very easily. Not all silver was created equal. A solid bullet would have worked quicker to kill him but the nitrate, thanks to his fall, had been effective enough. Thirty feet was enough to kill a human--or a werewolf suffering silver poisoning.

"Here's one!" a voice called from some distance away. Hank heard the shuffle of feet approaching. "Looks like he's still alive."

"Not for long," a second voice said gruffly. "Ke-rist! We had the drop on a whole pack and all we bagged was one wolf dying from silver poisoning!"

"I told you we shoulda not used that film developing solution," the first voice Hankered.

Great, Hank thought sarcastically. He'd been "bagged" by Elmer Fudd's redneck cousins. A boot started tapping him on the leg. He tried to growl but even that was beyond him at the moment. He had no idea how he was still alive since he couldn't breath well. He realized that he was actually just barely breathing at all. The Fudd brothers were right. He wouldn't last long now, not once his lungs shut down.

"Pity," A third voice said. "He's a big 'un. We coulda got top dollar for him."

"You know," the first voice said thoughtfully. "He ain't dead yet. I bet if we took him home and put him in the hibernation chamber thingy we picked up, he might stay alive long enough for us to sell him."

Hank wanted to sigh in disgust but he didn't have enough breath. Just his luck. One of them was smart enough to realize that even a dying wolf was worth money to someone. That was his last thought before he passed out again.