Monday, May 18, 2015
The flash scene well dried up in the wake of my self-published release of The Mountain Lion King last week (shameless plug), so here's the beginning of an M/M I'm fooling around with for an anthology featuring alphas behaving badly. In this case, there are two of them. Since they're both shapeshifters and this is a shapeshifter blog, I figured what the heck.
# # #
The smell of hot fresh blood got Declan up and moving again. He took a step and bit his lip against a whine of pain. He needed meat. Given his injuries, there was no guarantee when he'd be able to make a kill on his own. Right now even the chance of regaining human form was iffy.
Following the enticing lure of blood, the battered wolf staggered to the edge of the forest. Something must have made a kill in that field out there. Declan swept his fuzzy glare across the open meadow but couldn't see a goddamn thing.
Then a small head dominated by huge bright eyes and a hooked yellow beak popped up above the tips of the tall grass for a quick look-see. Declan froze. His muscles screamed at him and his demands they not shiver. Oh fuck, now that bite on his haunch was starting to bleed again.
After what seemed like centuries to Declan's aching muscles, the hawk dipped its head back below the grass. The shudders of the stalks hinted at violence within, a sharp beak and razor talons ripping something apart.
Saliva frothed with blood dripped from Declan's jaws. He needed that kill badly, far more than any stupid bird. He burst from the forest and charged toward where he'd seen the hawk's head appear.
Halfway there the bird itself suddenly erupted from the grass with a gutted rabbit in its claws. The rabbit's weight battled the hawk's efforts to bear it aloft. Declan zeroed in on the bloody prize and leaped. At the last second the hawk abandoned its catch and zoomed with empty claws into the air and safety.
Declan caught the rabbit in his jaws before it hit the ground. He gulped down still-warm flesh and felt renewed energy surge through his throbbing body. When only shreds were left on the bones, he took the chance and willed himself to shift.
His ripped and bitten flesh resisted his demand it rearrange. Declan gnashed his jaws against the agonizing protest put up by his abused skin and tissues. In the end his howl burst free, but it finished as a human scream. He fell to his knees and elbows and panted hard into the dirt.
Well, this was some improvement, at least. His limbs still shot blistering pain up and down his nerves when he moved, but the shift had sealed the worst of his wounds. Most of the bleeding had slowed to an annoying seep. Declan shoved himself upright and succeeded in gaining his feet on his second attempt. So far, so good.
Next up: find a place to hide. Get a good night's sleep. Find water, find more food. Meat would be best, berries and roots if he had to. Then march back onto clan territory and kill that bastard Seth. With his bare hands if necessary, though fangs would be so much more satisfying.
He turned toward the woods, straight into a fist that smashed into his chin. His battered body hit the ground with a jarring thud. The world, so briefly back in focus, started spinning again.
"Excuse me," a sharp voice said from above him, "but that was my dinner."