Wild Turkey

The brown-haired girl on top of the bar had to be drunk. No woman, no matter how crazy (or desperate) would be doing a strip-tease sober in front of this crowd. Most were wolves, and those that weren’t were cats. All were bikers, all were drunk, and every last one of them considered himself Dog’s or Bast’s gift to women. Her scent suggested she was herbivorous, not a good thing to be in a predator bar. If she slipped and landed in the crowd, these carnies would eat her alive.

Drake looked at the beer sloshing around in his mug and set it aside. He should be in Mexico by now, with the rest of his flock. But no, he had to hang around Talbot’s Peak for an extra two weeks, because he felt loyalty to Dante. And then he had to stop at the biker bar, because he had buddies here he wanted to say good-bye to. And now he couldn’t even finish his beer because he’d need to stay alert if he was going to save that idiot girl from herself.

Damn chivalry anyway. What had being chivalrous ever gotten a man?

The girl still had her pants and her boots on, but she’d torn off her blouse and was now whipping it, and her howling, slavering audience, into a frenzy. She danced to whatever song came on the jukebox. The fact she kept to the beat made Drake suspect she might not be as drunk as she wanted everyone to think.

She’d gotten a chant going. It sounded like, “YOLO.”

Somebody handed her a mug. She stopped dancing long enough to chug it, then tossed the mug into the crowd. Three wolves managed to catch it, then began fighting over it like dogs over a bone. The cats didn’t join in. They just stared at her, unblinking, their noses twitching like whiskers.

Okay, Drake decided. Time to put an end to this before the little twit started a riot. Or a feeding frenzy, with her as the main attraction.

Nobody noticed him slide off his chair and work his way along the wall to the jukebox. With all eyes on the bra’d but blouseless dancer, he had nothing to worry about. Casually he reached behind the jukebox and pulled the plug. The music scraped to a stop.

Several minutes passed before anyone noticed. Gradually the bikers turned around in a sporadic wave to stare at the silent juke. Drake, of course, was nowhere near it. He was creeping up on the bar.

The girl didn’t like losing her audience’s attention. “Hey!” she yelled at the distracted bikers. “I’m dancing here!”

“Not any more, you’re not,” Drake murmured, and swept her legs out from under her. They were long, shapely legs, skinny at the bottom but with healthy, meaty thighs, and swept with no trouble at all. The girl landed easily in Drake’s powerful arms. She let out a squawk.

Drake clapped his hand over her mouth. “Do you want to get out of this alive?”

She glared up at him and mouthed against his palm, No.

“Too bad.” He crouched down behind the bar and scuttled toward the exit, dragging his struggling rescuee with him. Maybe she was drunk. “You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

Her mouth moved again. I don’t have a tomorrow.

Neither of them would, if the drunken bikers spotted them. Even as he thought this, he heard a cat yowl. “Hey! Where’d the chicken go?”

Chicken, eh? That, as much as the huge, round breasts straining against her filmy bra, explained the bikers’ concentrated interest. What the hell was she thinking, putting herself up like a target in a carnie bar?

Like he was anyone to talk.

He got them to the exit, but the door’s movement was marked and noted. The wolves moved as one, in a loud pack-charge to the exit. The cats went out the front door, to silently circle around. Unable to find their prey in the parking lot, they automatically ran to the woods.

Drake watched them disperse from his hiding place on the bar’s flat roof. He’d laid the squirming girl out beneath him. Her nearly-bare breasts rubbed against his chest in all manner of fascinating ways.

Once the last cat had lumbered into the forest, Drake removed his hand but not his body. He didn’t want her bolting until he knew she’d be safe. The minute her mouth was free she used it to call him a name.

Drake grinned down at her. “Only on Tuesdays. In all honesty, this is how I was hoping to end the evening. But not with an unwilling partner.” He rolled off the girl, but kept hold of her arm. “So. Care to tell me why you’re so bent on self-destruction?”

She threw another curse at him while she struggled upright. He noticed she made no attempt to cover up her breasts. “What’s the point? I’ll be dead by Thursday. Might as well have some fun before I go.”

“What’s Thursday?” he started. Then everything from her scent on down clicked into place. “You’re a turkey?”

“Yeah. Lucky me. For the last ten years I’ve been a good girl. No bars, no carnie boys. Strict diet to stay skinny. Then all of a sudden this year I just started filling out. Genetics or something.” She waved her hand irritably at her big breasts and plump thighs. “The closer we got to November, the more people started hanging around me. With carving knives and cranberry sauce.” She blew a strand of hair away from her face. “So I figured, what the hey. If I gotta go out, I’m going out with a bang. All week long I’ve been cramming in as much life as I can before the axe falls.” She regarded Drake with a wry twist of her mouth. “So I guess it’s you. At least you’re good-looking.”

Drake shook his head. “Not me. I know where you’re coming from, though. I’m a duck.”

“Yeah? That explains the fish breath. You don’t have whole holidays dedicated to people roasting you, though.”

“True, though Christmas gets a little dicey. Migration’s the scariest time. A lot of us just take vans now.” Drake cocked his head toward the woods. The sounds of the hunt were becoming louder and more frustrated, but farther away. “This might be our best chance. Assuming you still want to live.”

“Of course I want to live. I like Thanksgiving as much as the next girl, as long as I’m not the main course. You got a safe place to hide out?”

“I have an apartment in town, near the fountain. It’s a herbie neighborhood. Safety in numbers. If we watch each other’s backs, we both should make it to Friday. What’s your name?”

Her expression relaxed. “Jennilynn. Yours?”

“I go by Drake, but my given name’s Francis. Promise you won’t tell anybody.”

Her finger made a crossing motion over her wonderful breasts. The finger froze at her collarbone. “Wait a minute. Francis Drake? Your parents really did that to you?”

“One of many reasons I don’t fly with their flock any more. Though if you’re still looking for fun before the holiday, you can call me Sir.”

Jennilynn giggled. “Sounds kinky. I like. Wanna go back to your place and stuff a turkey?”

Drake grinned. Hanging around Talbot’s Peak past migration had turned out to be the best decision ever.

Rude Awakening

The serial story continues!

# # #

Ewan woke with an empty sinking in his gut, convinced something somehow had just gone horribly wrong. It couldn’t be due to his dreams. His dreams had been full of Maureen showing off her tits and lots of frisky fun. Maybe that alarm blaring upstairs had something to do with it.

He looked around for Maureen and found her gone. Dang girl had run off again. Probably no farther than the nearest bathroom, her being female and all, but still. He’d been looking forward to waking up next to her so they could get to know each other a whole lot better.

Not with that alarm blasting, though. Ewan switched back to human and pulled on his pants. Check out the alarm first, then look for Maureen. If the two turned out to be related he’d be nabbing two birds with one stone.

The alarm shut off before he got upstairs. No big deal; the cause was pretty obvious. The upstairs bar was a mess, with overturned tables, smashed bottles, glass everywhere and one wolf on the floor holding an ice pack to his head. And two humans definitely the worse for wear. They’d been bound and stuck in a corner under heavy guard.

Ewan’s already-sunk gut did a further plummet: Shaggy and Agent Mulder.

Ewan shot a glance out the window. The van still sat where Maureen had parked it. Two of Dante’s men in wolf form sniffed around the parking lot. They were the only beings out there, active or otherwise.

No Maureen.

It couldn’t have been Cochrane. There would have been gunfire, maybe explosions. He looked around the wreck of the bar for a blond-haired body. Freddie had only been armed with a knife, but he wouldn’t have let that inhibit him.

Where was she?

One of the wolves turned toward him from questioning the humans. Ewan was surprised to see Dante. If the boss wolf himself had gotten involved, this must be worse than a hunter attack. And the only thing worse than a hunter attack …

He leaped at Dante before the alpha could speak. “What happened? Where’s Maureen?”

Dante held up his hand. “Take it easy. Your hunter buddies showed up to attack us, but a pack of my sire’s wolves attacked them first. They took the girl and two other humans. Cochrane wasn’t involved. At last report he was on his way to Talbot’s Peak, but he seems to have disappeared.” Dante’s expression promised the head hunter’s whereabouts wouldn’t stay secret for long. “It’s all right. They won’t be harmed right away. I have an agent in the pack. They’re taking them to the Doctor.”

Just when you thought a gut couldn’t sink any lower. “Kidnapped? How is that all right?”

“They’re being taken to the Doctor’s laboratory. We know it’s in Colorado, just not the exact location. Once we’ve got it pinpointed, we’ll move in.” He laid his hand on Ewan’s shoulder. “I already have agents en route to Colorado. We’ll get her back unharmed.” His personal phone, the one that operated off the grid, buzzed. “Excuse me.” Dante pulled out the phone. “Yes?”

Ewan wandered over to the bar in a daze. For once in his life his glib brain went on hold. It allowed one thought to whirl around inside it like a dervish: She’s gone. Her and her brains and her smile and her laugh and her smell with its touch of randy she-wolf. Taken right out from under his nose. He was a failure as a coyote.

He’d never even gotten to see her tits.

The wolf in him kicked the coyote in the ass. You going to just stand there and cry at the moon? Or you going to do something about it?

“Chaos, yes,” Ewan growled aloud. Bite those Hancock wolves. “Nobody takes my girl.”

Dante was still speaking into his phone. “Follow them. A squad of Tiger Yakuza doesn’t just up and take off for no reason. Keep me apprised.” He returned the phone to his pocket. “Get some breakfast. We’ve got this.”

“Screw that.” Nobody was getting anything until he had Maureen and her smile and her brains and her tits safe in his arms again. “I want in.”

Blood Moon Rout

Pic from ~mysticinvestigations.com~

Blood Moon howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

In honor of this rare celestial event, here's a flash scene about what happens if you dare intrude on Talbot's Peak territory with the intention to harm.

~~~~~~

Blood Moon Rout

About to quaff the blood moon ale Dante had brewed for the night's howl and prowl through the forest in celebration of the first of four Blood Moons, Stone paused, the enormous stein held partway to his mouth. He'd sensed more than scented a rush toward the door by two horse shifter types, as had the three other musketeers in his wolf pack

One for all, and all for one, Stone and his pack glued their gazes on the biker bar's  well secured door, where two werewolf bouncer types stood guard.  "Open the door, mates," Dugger, the dingo shifter broke the sudden silence, "Before Catcher and Diamond bloody bust through. No use making Dante pay for--"

Too late... almost too late, either Catcher or Diamond shoulder-slammed the heavy wooden door as one of the bouncers whipped it open. A golden-coated stallion slid to a fast stop on the rough-hewn floor, followed by his sable colored buddy. The night's blackness framed them while empty chairs and tables flew to the side -- having already been deserted.

"What has your long tails in a knot, fellas?" Dugger tossed cool as ice amid the blowing snorts and anxious pawing of the two shifter studs.

"BLM troops," a woman breathlessly shrilled from the doorway. The petite woman dressed in horse-endurance racing gear moved inward quick, grabbing hold of the sable stallion's mane.

"Serenity, what is it?" Dugger's better half, Symone approached, one hand on the long, strange super rifle slung across her shoulder. Stone had never seen the enhanced-human warrioress without it. 'Course, his musketeer pack had only been part Dante's patrol crew for the last six months.

"They're building a staging whatever you call it," Serenity burst out. "Weapons. SWAT vehicles. They're, they're massing on Talbot's Peak territory." She sucked in a breath. "Looks like they have the Turkles ranch in their cowardly sights," she spat contemptuously. "We've got to do something. Now!" she shouted, her righteous passion obvious -- her breaths heaving in and out.

"Scat, we're in." Stone leaped to his feet, his pack following. As they shed their leathers, and began their shifts, he growled, "Time for a Blood Moon rout of the enemy."

"Yeah, mate." Dugger's guttural tone suggested he morphed to dingo.

"Let's get it on," Symone yelled.

Stone swore the woman's blood blazed as fever-high wild as his -- as his pack's. Through wolfen eyes he watched the tall warrioress seize a handful of the golden stallion's mane and jump astride. Serenity had already mounted her sable stallion lover, who now backed through the open door rapidly.

Dugger's excited yip-yip-yip as he charged with Stone and his pack -- following Catcher and Diamond -- fired Stone's bloodlust through his veins even bigger and badder.

Hunger stronger than while on the hunt for dinner, raged inside, owning every last wolf hair of Stone. Brute. Beast. Monster. Oh howls-scat, yeah, he was all of that. And more.

As if they chased the wind, the two stallions raced along a well-used forest trail that led to a long stretch of prairie. From what Stone mentally picked up from the woman, Serenity, the paramilitary encampment lay atop a great rise of ground yet in a hollow -- somewhat shielded from view.

Not his view. Not his nose. As they broke out of the dark forest onto the moon brightened prairie, the stench of human sweat smacked Stone in the nostrils. Oh hell yeah, the blood game was on. These were seasoned killers, mercenaries of the worst sort.

Stone salivated to crunch their bones, spurt their blood. Eliminate them from beautiful Mother Earth.

He knew little about the Turkle ranch, only that a Turkey shifter family owned it, and they were right handy with rifles. Damn smart when living among predator shapeshifters, and surviving. Why the Turkles were targeted by the bureaucratic agency, if they were, mystified Stone. That is, unless their land held a value prized by those addicted to big money.

Catcher and Diamond's hoofbeats resounded like low rolling thunder as they galloped over the Spring-awakened land. The blasting heat of bloodlust rolled off Stone and his pack... off Dugger and every wolf, coyote, big cat, and half-breed shapeshifter who ran with them on mostly silent paws.

"Lasers!" Symone shouted the warning over her shoulder. "Spread out," she ordered. "Evade and attack." 

Scat sure enough, pencil-thin beams crisscrossed above them. Given he was in the lead, one laser weapon locked on Stone, between his eyes. He knew by the matrix-energy around him several of the others were also targeted.

Breaking his stride, Stone launched upward and to the side as shots rang out. Grinning, a super thrill sliding along his spine, he dug in sprinting past Catcher and Diamond. Amid whizzing bullets, his always-courageous pack ran loosely beside him, their scent as hot and savage for the taste of mercenary blood as his.

Howls hell no, you creepazoid bastards -- not one of their shifter pack had been picked off, or injured. Stone would have sensed or heard the thud of a bullet penetrating flesh.

He credited Dante, given the alpha in charge held regular training sessions for this type of combat. Still grinning, Stone felt his energy spike to monster status. He saw through a red sheen now, and his muscles exploded with power.

Stone figured they were less than a mile out, and they raced uphill -- faster than the average demon wolf. Oh scat yeah, faster. Oh, and by the way, enemies, our razor-sharp fangs rip through Kevlar like good raw steak.

A frenzied chaos of movement by the paramilitary troops, and shouted orders, entered Stone's ears, but he hardly heard the words. What he knew, he and his musketeer pack led the charge inside the encampment.

Shots dully pinged into Mother Earth's skin, missing Stone and his pack. Taser-like advanced weaponry buzzed like a den of pissed off rattlesnakes. Bolts of electricity hit Stone.

He grinned wider. That's right, ape scat, give me the juice. Time for a Blood Moon rout.

Stone sprang, snapped his jaws around an aimed assault rifle, and crunched mangling the weapon. He flung it aside. Before his enemy could stumble backward, Stone sank his fangs into his exposed throat.

~~~~~~


Wishing you full moon shapeshifting on the wild side…

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~