The Prodigal Returns

Zhere Ghan was at work in the dining hall, plotting strategy. He had not returned to his office for any length of time since the night of the attack. To his nose, it still stank of sheep urine. Just his imagination, he knew. Nevertheless, he’d taken to switching work stations, choosing rooms at random and moving about the manor frequently, with no set pattern. The House of Ghan was preparing for war. It never hurt to take precautions.

A harried servant opened the far door and glanced inside. His breath left him in a relieved hiss when he spotted Ghan. He bowed low. “Your son has arrived, my Lord. Shall I present him to you here, or would you prefer a different venue?”

Ghan frowned. “My son?” He shook his head and set aside his tablet. “Bring him here.” The servant bobbed even lower and withdrew.

Now what in Vishnu’s name was Tasman doing here? He was under strict orders to maintain a presence at the tigers’ club, Nirvana. Carry on as if nothing was amiss. Ghan wanted a second set of trusted eyes in Talbot’s Peak, trained on Hancock’s agents. It also reduced the risk of both himself and his heir falling victim to another assassination attempt. Ghan had his household guard; Tasman had his assistant, the lethal snow leopardess Leila. If one of them fell to Hancock’s machinations, the other would see about revenge.

It wasn’t like Tasman to disobey orders. Not without at least a phone call first. He’d better have a damned good reason for an unnecessary personal visit.

The servant returned. He bowed low, ushered the young tiger shifter into the dining hall, and backed away without ever raising his eyes to Ghan’s. The tiger adjusted his lapels and nodded respectfully. “Father.”

Ghan leaped to his feet, dumbstruck. “Ravi? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I heard about the attempt on your life. Of course I came at once.”

“Why?”

“Why?” For a second his professional mask slipped, and a snarl tried to curl his lips back. Ravi mastered it quickly, and returned his face to neutrality. In spite of himself, Ghan approved. A year of running the Indian branch of the business had done Ravi good. It looked like he might have learned how to curb his impulsiveness, and his often hair-trigger emotionalism. He still wasn’t Tasman, but he’d improved tremendously. “Because if we’re engaged in open warfare, then my place is here.”

“Who says we’re at war?”

Now Ravi’s lips did curve, in a bit of a knowing smirk. “Tasman. We report to each other on a regular basis, you know. He’s very thorough.”

Ghan grunted. He was indeed. “Surely he didn’t order you here. Best that one of you stays out of the line of fire.”

“Seriously? I’m supposed to sit on my tail safe in India while some mongrel dog takes a run at you? And nearly succeeded, from what I understand.” Ravi stepped further into the room. “Safety be damned. If your life is threatened, my place is at your side, as befits a dutiful son.”

“Tasman—”

“Maintains the Ghan presence in Talbot’s Peak, as I’m sure you would have ordered him. Am I correct?” He must have read the answer on Ghan’s face, because his smirk widened a little. “Leaving you with no trusted kin to guard your back. It’s Hancock behind it, am I right? There you go, then. All a wolf understands is rank. He thinks you’re an alpha with no pack to back you. If we present him with a united front, you and Tasman and I, he’s liable to roll over and show throat.”

“Not that one,” Ghan growled. “I think his brains have finally curdled. He called out the Seven on me.”

“The assassins? And you were going to leave me sitting in India while you took him on alone?” Ravi shook his head. “Sometimes you worry me, Father.”

Ghan chuckled, and relaxed. How many times had he said that to Ravi, and in the same indulgent tone of voice? His second-born might have finally achieved maturity. Leaving the table, he walked to his son and laid his hand on Ravi’s shoulder. “Perhaps you’re right. Dogs fight in packs. We should meet them in the same manner. Lull them in, then face them as tigers. They’ll never know what hit them.” He patted Ravi’s arm. “It’s good to see you, son.”

“Thank you, Father.” He glanced around. “Where’s Sergei? I would have thought he’d be hovering over you, given the circumstances.”

“Sergei … ” Ghan growled under his breath. He let go of Ravi’s arm. “Sergei has … terminated his employment.”

“He’s left you? At a time like this?”

“It’s of no import.” So he’d been telling himself. “He was on assignment for me when the attack happened. He returned in time to save me. Then he declared his debt repaid and left. We needn’t worry about him.”

“Are you sure?” Ravi said. “He’s always been a strange one. Didn’t he have ties to the Seven?”

Ghan had been pondering that as well. The timing of the sheep’s attack had been awfully coincidental. Or well-planned. “Tasman has him and his lover under surveillance. If I decide action against him is warranted, Tasman will see to it.” He smiled suddenly. “But that can wait. My son is with me again. Come to the kitchen, have tea with me. Tell me how things are at home.”

“Boring,” Ravi said. “I wanted to be where I’m needed.” They left the dining hall, Ghan with his arm around Ravi’s shoulders.

Conference Call

Brandon Fledermaus stared at his waiting computer screen and sucked in a long, labored breath. He wasn’t looking forward to this, but it needed to be done. “You want a drink first?” Jerboa offered drily.

“Not yet. I need all my wits about me. Afterwards, leave the bottle.” He glanced at the clock in the screen’s corner. This call had been arranged earlier. The one he could count on to respond. The other? Still up in the air. He prayed both would listen. Lives, perhaps more than their own, might be at stake.

At precisely 7 pm he activated Skype. The screen split as he connected with the two incoming calls. One hurdle cleared: both horses had been successfully led to the water. Now to get them to drink. “Gentlemen,” he said. “Thank you for hearing me out.”

“You haven’t said anything yet,” Damien Hancock growled. The image from his end was slightly out of focus. Brand studied it as best he could. The Alpha wolf didn’t look good. He appeared somehow bloated, and hairier than usual, as if he hadn’t shaved or even combed his hair in days. By contrast, Zhere Ghan’s image practically crackled with clarity. He looked the same as always: handsome, dignified, polished, urbane. Dangerous. That burned in his narrowed eyes and was picked up by the camera. Hancock’s eyes were harder to read from his blurry image. They looked bloodshot.

“I’ll get right to the point,” Brand said. “By now you both probably know I was attacked in my home the other night. I know the two of you were also attacked the same night. Supposedly each of us ordered the attacks on the others. For example, the pair that came after me made a point of telling me they were Hancock agents, under orders from—”

“Like I’d bother,” Hancock snarled. “Stinking little flying rat. Scrape you off the bottom of my shoe.”

“While my attacker,” Ghan said smoothly, “dropped your name rather casually into the conversation, Mr. Fledermaus. Care to explain?”

“That’s why I arranged this meeting,” Brand said. “After asking around and weighing the evidence, I’ve concluded—”

“What evidence?” Hancock broke in. “Who’ve you been talking to? My wolves wouldn’t talk to you. They’d chew you up and spit out the wings. You’re just trying to—”

“Damien,” Ghan said, “be still. I wish to hear what our neighbor has to say.”

“Stuff it up your tail, you striped bastard. He’s not your neighbor. You don’t have a damned rat gnawing at your borders. You just hide in your den and send others out to skulk around. What’sa matter? Too good to get your paws dirty? You want a piece of me, you come at me yourself! See what it gets you!”

“Damien—”

“Cram it, stripey. I will not ‘be still.’ You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Still as in dead, right?”

“I will admit,” Ghan said, “your demise would give me a measure of satisfaction. One less annoyance to concern myself with. But I didn’t order an attack on you or on anyone else. Not this time.”

“The hell you didn’t. Hump you. Hump the both of you.” Hancock’s blurry image vanished from the screen.

After a moment Ghan said, “Well. That could have gone better.”

Brandon didn’t answer right away. Hancock had a reputation for aggression—he was an alpha wolf, after all—but that outburst had been over the top even for him. “Something’s off,” he murmured.

“With Hancock?” Ghan sniffed. “You needn’t have disturbed me to tell me something both of us already know.”

“And I didn’t. I called to tell you both my findings. I’m convinced none of us ordered any attacks on the others. But somebody wants us to think that. Someone’s trying to pit us against each other. Someone from outside.”

“A common enemy?” For the first time, Ghan showed a modicum of interest. “Who would benefit from our mutual demise?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to ferret out. Either somebody wants the three of us to destroy each other so they can move into the power vacuum, or one of us was the real target and the other two are a smokescreen.” He half-smiled grimly. “I’m sure you have a number of enemies with a personal axe to grind.”

“Too many to count,” Ghan confirmed. “Including Hancock. You?”

“Hancock wants my land. He’s never made any secret of it. But that attack on me seemed awfully impersonal. They weren’t assassins, or fighters, for that matter. They weren’t even there to kill me. They said as much. I don’t know the details of Hancock’s encounter, only that someone got in, and also left him alive. What about your attack? Anything hit close to home?”

On the screen, Ghan stiffened. Ah, Brand thought. Struck a nerve, did I?

“My attacker did try to kill me. And mentioned your name,” the tiger reminded him.

“Then your life could be in serious danger. Hancock’s too, from his reactions. I suspect I was thrown in to muddy the waters.”

“And now you’ve called to inspect your handiwork?”

“I called to report my findings to you both,” Brand said patiently, “and to propose an alliance. I was hoping the three of us together—”

“Ah. The plot reveals itself.” Ghan turned brisk. “Remove us both and secure your own position, all the while playing the innocent. A tiger does not have allies, Fledermaus. A tiger has servants and enemies. I will deal with Hancock, as I should have long ago. And then I will deal with you.” He cut the connection.

Brand was still staring at the empty screen when Jerboa approached with the brandy. He set the bottle on the desk. “Well,” he said, “you tried.”

“I had to. Even though I think we both knew it wouldn’t work.”

“Yep. That’s a predator for you. So what happens now?”

Brand sat back and reached for the bottle. “We keep digging,” he said, “and try to contain the collateral damage before all Talbot’s Peak gets caught in the blast.”

The Ripple Effect

Actions have consequences. Throw a stone into the center of a pond and the ripples spread out to the shoreline. The nameless person behind the scenes has just thrown huge stones into a number of lives. Now the ripples are starting to spread …

# # #

Brandon Fledermaus is looking for answers. The attack on him made little sense, and his instincts tell him Damien Hancock wasn’t really behind it. That opinion strengthens when he learns Hancock and Zhere Ghan both experienced similar attacks on the same night. Oh, the two kingpins themselves aren’t talking, but they have staff, and their staff tends to gossip, and speculate.

Hancock and Ghan are predators, and so are their employees. Most of the population of Talbot’s Peak is prey—herbivores, rodents. When predators talk, prey is always listening, in the form of a diner waitress, a clerk in a grocery store, a bartender in a local pub, a janitor mopping the floor in the offices of Hancock Real Estate or the tigers’ nightclub, Nirvana. Listening for the movements of predators is how the prey survives.

Brandon Fledermaus is a bat, and bats have excellent hearing. He flits through the night from one contact to another, and listens as the stories grow.

# # #

The doctor holds up a hypodermic. “This is what we have. It still hasn’t been fully tested—”

Damien Hancock thrusts out his arm. “Start testing.”

The scientist grimaces, but Hancock’s money keeps his pups in private school, away from human and herbivorous taints, so he swabs the prominent vein in the crook of the old wolf’s arm, slides the needle in, and prays he hasn’t just poisoned his financial well.

Nothing happens, at first. Hancock growls, down low in his throat. The sound has an edge of panic to it. The Asian cat who ambushed him hit too close to home. An Alpha who can’t shift might as well be dead. If his pack learns the truth, his life won’t be worth scat.

And then …

It starts in his gut, a twist like his innards are reshaping themselves. He doubles over, dry-retching. His heart slams against his ribs like a caged wolf against iron bars.

Then the power hits. Raw, crackling energy blasts through his veins, building and building with no end in sight. All of a sudden he’s twenty again, fierce and hungry and ready to hunt the world and crack its spine in his powerful jaws. His muscles thicken, his neck bulges. A howl starts up in the pit of his lungs and bursts free in a lusty bellow that almost seems to rattle the windows.

Still got it! he thinks exultantly. He’s still the king of Talbot’s Peak. Still the Alpha wolf.

When his body’s shudders stop he rises up. He’s suddenly a foot taller than he was before. He jabs a taloned finger at the empty hypodermic. “Make more.”

The doctor nods bleakly. Secretly, he wonders if it might be best to yank his pups out of school, pack up the wife and the SUV and move to that nice town in Oregon.

# # #

Zhere Ghan stands silently by while housekeeping removes the remains of his wrecked office jungle. One hand grips the edge of his desk. The other clenches and relaxes, clenches and relaxes. Each clench drives his nails more deeply into his palm. His men have searched the manor grounds, and beyond. They have yet to catch the assassin.

A sheep. Someone sent a sheep to kill him. A bloody herbivore. The blatant insult curdles in his gut.

Allegedly it was Fledermaus, but Zhere Ghan has his doubts. He’s studied the bat. Fledermaus certainly has funds enough to afford the Seven’s services, but would he be so crass? This attack reeks of contempt. It’s something Hancock would think of, had he the wit or the subtlety.

Worse still, it nearly succeeded. That rankles even more.

And now he’s lost his favorite and most powerful chess piece. Sergei’s in the wind, no longer at Ghan’s beck and call. Sergei, who knows every inch of this compound, who can ghost past its alarms, defenses and warriors any time he wants to. Who trained Stefanya, leader of the Seven.

The phone atop his desk goes off. The housekeepers jump. Ghan does not. He answers calmly. “Yes?”

“Father?” Tasman, from the club. “Are you well? I’ve been getting jumbled reports—”

“It’s nothing. A glitch in the security system. Stay where you are. No need for you to come home.”

Tasman pauses, reading between the lines. “I could send Leila.”

“No. Keep her with you. Better than a battalion, that one.” He might not have been the only target tonight. At least now he knows his son and heir is safe and, with his lethal assistant to guard him, likely to stay so.

Enough standing about. Time to take action.

“Father?”

“I have matters covered on my end, but there’s something you can do. That dancer, the red wolf, Genevieve Bordeaux. Is she still there at the club?”

“Not any more. She quit the other night. Went over to that new place, with the freaks and the perverts.”

“Did she now?” First her, then Sergei. Interesting timing. “Can you spare an agent? I want her watched. I want to know who comes and goes at her house, and where she goes, and why.”

Tasman makes a small noise, like he’s about to ask a question, but instead responds, “Yes, Father.”

“Good lad. We’ll discuss matters when you get home.” He’ll need to find out if Sergei at least killed Warner Hancock’s bitch and spawn. The House of Ghan is under attack. He can’t afford to take anything for granted any more.

After ending the call with his firstborn, he summons the head of his personal security team. “I want all your current intelligence on Fledermaus, the Hancock pack, Sergei, and that new upstart nightclub in town.” He sighs. It’s a happy sound, full of anticipation. “Looks like we’re going to war.”

# # #

Genevieve awakens from a restless sleep to the sound of a light tapping at her bedroom window. She squints through the gloom and spots a hulking silhouette that can only be Sergei. She springs from her bed and hurries to the kitchen door to let him in.

He does not waste words. “I have left Zhere Ghan,” he tells her somberly. “My life may be worth nothing now. Yours also, I’m afraid.” He bends to kiss her forehead. “I am so sorry, my firewolf. I should have killed him.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” She isn’t upset. She’s been getting hints of this through her dreams for a while now. She’s known something along these lines was coming. “We’ll need a place to hide, at least for a bit.” A smile curves her lips. “And I know where.”

# # #

Working the late shift on the desk at the Rocky Top Motel, Hoover suddenly straightens when a poignant, musky scent assails his sensitive nose. His phenomenal sense of smell is how he got this job. Hancock’s corporation owns this motel, and Damien Hancock owns Hoover. His job is to assess the travelers who pass through the strip by the interstate exit. Most are humans, nonthreatening and oblivious, on their hurried way from here to there. Some are shifters. Some could pose a threat to the Hancocks and their hold on Talbot’s Peak. Any time Hoover sniffs someone iffy, he’s to contact the Alpha immediately.

One whiff of the man approaching the desk and Hoover figures he’s earned his pay for the week, and then some.

The man walks with a slow, effortless stride, like he’s stalking prey. Hoover doesn’t even need the walk. He knows a tiger when he smells one. He’s got smooth skin, paler than most Indian tigers, and straight black hair that falls to his shoulders. He smiles at Hoover. His eyes chill the wolf to his bones. The tiger’s eyes are blue. Hoover knows only one other blue-eyed tiger: Sergei, Zhere Ghan’s freak albino pet.

He swallows hard and offers up a wide, friendly smile. “Welcome to Talbot’s Peak, sir. Would you like a room?”

“That’s usually why one comes to a motel,” the tiger says dryly. His voice holds the hint of an accent, and it isn’t Indian. “I’ll need lodging for a week at least, possibly longer. Have you any available?”

“This time of year? Not a problem. You’ve got your pick of the second floor. How about one near the ice machine?”

“That will do nicely,” the tiger agrees. He nods toward the motel entrance, and the garishly-lit street beyond. “That road out there. Where does it lead?”

“Up into the mountains.” No point in holding back. He has a sinking feeling the tiger already knows and is toying with him. “There’s a town up there about the size of a pinhead. Nothing of interest, really.”

“Talbot’s Peak, yes?”

Scat. “Yeah, that’s it. They’re kind of insular up there, though. Survivalists. Home-grown Montana militia. You don’t want to go up there.”

“Perhaps not.” The man signs in and produces a credit card. Hoover makes close note of his name. Mikhail Dvorak. That answers some questions and raises a ton of others. Mr. Dvorak gives him a cold, thin smile and climbs the stairs. He’s brought no luggage with him.

The second he hears the upstairs door clap shut, Hoover dives for the phone and speed-dials the Hancock stronghold.

Safe ... ?

Zhere Ghan rolled aside. The pointed stick pierced his expensive carpet instead of his underbelly. He tried to rise, but the sheep assassin kicked him in the head again. Ghan lashed out blindly with his claws, a clean miss. The sheep tut-tutted. “Game over,” he said.

Dizzy and blinded by banana cream, Ghan tensed for the death blow. Seconds ticked by. Nothing. Then a bleated yelp, and a crash within his indoor jungle.

Sensing reprieve, Ghan shifted to human. Fingers wiped the cream away more expertly than paws. He blinked his eyes against the sugary sting.

Half the plants by the window had been knocked askew. A lanky form struggled among them, trying to right itself. Then a huge shadow loomed between Ghan and the window, blocking his view.

He recognized the coat before the scent penetrated his reeling awareness. The coat, and the immense height. Sergei.

The Siberian was already moving, toward the remains of the mini-jungle. He plucked the assassin from the ruins of several dwarf bamboo and held him aloft by his shirt collar, like Frankenstein’s monster lifting a kitten by the scruff of the neck. The man kicked futilely at Sergei’s legs. He might as well have been attacking steel girders.

Sergei regarded him with mild curiosity. “I don’t know you,” he said, “but you are one of Seven, yes?”

Flat, grass-chomping teeth flashed in the weak streams of moonlight. “Bite me.”

“In time. First we talk.”

“No. We talk.” Ghan struggled up onto his elbows. “He’s mine.”

The sheep-man looked from one to the other. Unexpectedly, he bleated a maniacal laugh. “Oh, no. No you don’t. Not the two of you at once. Maybe another time, after I’ve had a chance to set up the playground. Until then, arrivederci, gents.”

On that note, he shifted. The shirt collar tore loose in Sergei’s hand as the sheep dropped to the floor. Before either tiger could stop him, he gathered his hooves beneath him and bounded clear over Zhere Ghan, out the open door to Ghan’s office and into the hallway beyond.

“Stop him!” Ghan bellowed at Sergei. “What are you just standing there for? Go after him! Bring him back!”

Sergei gazed blandly after the escaped assassin, then down at Zhere Ghan on the floor—naked, bloody, panting for breath, with smears of banana cream on his cheeks. Helpless. Then he bent and picked up the pointed stick the assassin had abandoned.

One stride set him looming over Ghan. His eyes flashed like the ice of deepest Siberian winter. An even deeper chill flashed through Zhere Ghan’s blood.

He dropped the stick to the floor. It bounced on the carpet next to Ghan’s hand.

“Life for life,” Sergei said. “My debt is paid in full.” He tipped his black slouch hat to Ghan and strolled out of the office.

Ghan lay on the floor, shuddering. He couldn’t stop himself. When the lights abruptly snapped back on, he yelped.

So his guards found him shortly afterward, still on the floor of his office. Fortunately the shudders had stopped by then. The guards spread out to cover the office. Two knelt beside him with their knives out. Another inspected the wrecked mini-jungle for possible hidden danger. “Are you unharmed, my lord?” asked the guard by the door.

Ghan shoved the two beside him away and climbed to his feet. His knees shook. Pride and years of discipline helped him still them before the underlings noticed. “I am,” he snarled. “No thanks to my expensive security system. The assassin may still be in the vicinity. Gather a team and search the grounds. You’re looking for a sheep.”

“A sheep, lord?” the guard said, incredulous. Ghan pierced him with a glare that would melt titanium. The guard bowed low. “Yes, lord.”

The other continued to poke at the plants. His nose wrinkled against the reek of ovine urine. “What happened in here?” he muttered.

I nearly died, Ghan thought. I. Zhere Ghan, lord of tigers. He recalled the look in Sergei’s eyes. Twice.

The shudders returned. He was able to hold them in check until the guards filed out and left him alone again.

# # #

“Well, that was a wash,” Cloyd muttered as he scrambled over the fence. He loped through the forest, putting distance between himself and the compound before he circled back toward Talbot’s Peak.

Sergei. Son of a freakin’ gun. The Big Bad himself. That was one feather any killer for hire would love to add to his cap. Stefanya had declared him off-limits, but …

“Accidents happen,” Cloyd whispered, and tittered. He picked up his pace and added a few twists and turns, in case of any pursuit.

Strike Three, You're Out

As Yuri made his way down the side of Talbot’s Peak, Zhere Ghan made his way to his office. There’d been some kind of snafu with the security system—alarms silenced, lights malfunctioning. His team was working on it, but they insisted their lord retreat to his office until they issued an all-clear. A threat of attack by the Seven was nothing to sneeze at. The sanctums of Ghan and Tasman were considered the safest rooms in the manor.

With the exception of the women’s quarters, of course. Ghan snorted. “Safe” was a relative term where Kali and her moods were concerned. He’d rather face the Seven than deal unnecessarily with his senior wife.

He stepped into his office and shut the door. He didn’t bother locking it. Bad enough his guards insisted he hide like a woman just because the alarms had gone dead. If an enemy made it this far he’d dispatch them himself, and then deal with his staff’s carelessness.

The room remained dimly lit by whatever moon- and starlight could squeeze through the curtains. The lights should have come on automatically. He tried the switch and got no better results. The power in general was probably out as well. So much for getting anything done.

What was that odor? It smelled like … lanolin?

Not so unexpected. The butchers had made a delivery just this afternoon. Along with the sides of beef and venison the driver had presented the kitchen with a live sheep, and produced the proper paperwork to account for it. Someone must have had a yen for mutton. One of the women, no doubt. The girls did so enjoy playing with their food.

Odd that the smell of wool should be here in his office, however. Unless Guri had discovered the sheep and decided to play one of his infantile jokes. Time for yet another stern talking-to. Would his youngest cub never mature?

Someone giggled in the room, and not in Guri’s voice.

Ghan went still. As his tiger’s eyes rapidly adjusted to the gloom he became aware of a hunched silhouette that didn’t belong among the clean, straight lines of his mini-jungle by the window. It spread its legs slightly. He heard a familiar tinkling sound, and smelled the plant-edged stink of herbivore urine.

“About time you got here,” the figure said. “My own fault, really. I came up early. It’s no fun being a sheep in a kitchen, let me tell you. The way the cooks kept looking at me … ” The top of the hunch turned toward Zhere Ghan. The weak light glinted off unnervingly bright eyes. “Sort of the way I’m looking at you right now. Fledermaus said I was just supposed to deliver a warning, but I was hoping we’d get to play.”

The tinkling stopped. The figure’s arm moved.

Just in time, Ghan dodged aside. A kitchen knife whizzed by his head. The assassin ducked between the plants and lost himself amid the fronds and leaves.

“And who might you be?” Ghan said coolly. He slid behind his desk. “You’re definitely not Stefanya.”

A titter answered him, with only flecks of sanity in it. Now his office smelled like pissy wool. Pinpointing his attacker’s scent would be difficult. No doubt what the assassin intended.

Wanted to play, did he? With a tiger? Very well. Ghan quickly shed his clothing and shifted. Member of the Seven or not, the intruder was as good as dead.

He padded toward his jungle in a silent hunter’s crouch. An herbivore. A sheep. They’d sent a sheep to kill him. Had Stefanya lost her mind? And Fledermaus. Stupid little rodent. What had he been thinking, to challenge the Ghans?

His ears picked up the whisper of a rustle in the leaves. He leaped.

Right into a banana-cream pie.

The assassin’s maniacal laughter rang out over Ghan’s outraged roar. “My compliments to your dessert chef,” the sheep said. “Come on, little kitty cat. Catch me if you can.”

Ghan swiped cream from his muzzle. The dratted stuff had got into his eyes and nose. He had only his ears to guide him now. I will shred you like a cheap sweater, he vowed. His claws came out. And then the other six.

For fifteen tense minutes he hunted the assassin. Several times he came close, missing by inches. “Kitty kitty kitty,” the sheep taunted him. “Puss puss puss.” The voice came from among the plants again. Hah! Got you cornered now, Ghan thought, and rushed the dwarf bamboo.

Again the assassin was ready. He clouted Ghan on the skull with a heavy earthen pot. The tiger reeled, snarling, disoriented.

“Bored now,” the sheep announced. Ghan heard a crack, one of his trees being snapped in half. Then the sheep kicked him in his throbbing head. Ghan stumbled and fell on his side with part of his belly exposed.

He felt more than heard the assassin approach him. “We weren't supposed to kill this time around,” the sheep told him. “Screw that.” The silhouette that stood over him now held a length of slender broken tree in his hands. “Not as pointy as I wanted it, so this is going to hurt. Tough titty, kitty. Say g’night.”

To be continued …

Crossroads

Zhere Ghan took the news of his impending assassination well. “So the Seven are gunning for me, eh? Well. Someone thinks an awful lot, to spend so much and dispatch so many just to end my life. The Seven. When you care enough to send the very best. Not there,” he snapped at the gangly man in Apex Greenhouse coveralls. “By the window. They do best in sunlight. Don’t you know anything?”

Sergei watched the man silently heft the small potted tree and move it over to join the small forest growing beside the broad windows of Ghan’s office. He well understood Ghan’s desire for thick natural cover. However, the king tiger’s office was not the place for it. All the greenery would provide cover for an assailant as well. And with the Seven here, gunning for Ghan …

The delivery man arranged the tree with the others. “There y’go, mate,” he murmured to it. Sergei’s ears pricked at the accent. Australian? Not that Talbot’s Peak didn’t host a myriad of out-of-staters. He himself was living proof of that. But the Seven were an international team. He took a careful sniff and found a contradiction, a crocodile with only a thin trace of meat in his scent. Word of someone that odd would have circulated in this gossip-happy town. Perhaps he was a recent arrival? As recent as Stefanya?

Given their profession, the makeup of the Seven changed constantly. Stefanya he knew of, and that Yuri was still with her. Who were the others? He hadn’t even bothered to find out.

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?”

Ghan’s heavy sarcasm jerked Sergei’s attention away from the crocodile. “I was considering strategy,” Sergei said. “Means of defense. The Seven will not strike directly, like wolf. Stefanya is cunning. She—”

Ghan waved that away. “My guards will see to it. It’s not as if anyone can get at me, not here in the house. On to more important matters.” He strolled to the window to inspect the new arrangement. The crocodile froze instinctively. “Much better. Where are the orchids? I paid for orchids.”

“In the truck, sir. Be right back.” The delivery man sidled past him and darted out of the office. Sergei watched him thoughtfully. Ghan paid no attention.

“My agents tell me,” Ghan said, nudging a potted tree closer to the window, “that the elder Hancock’s mate has given birth.” He shot a razored look at Sergei. “Surely you remember her. I ordered you to kill her and the pup several weeks ago.”

Sergei shrugged, not as carelessly as he’d wanted to. “Is not so important. Threat of the Seven outweighs threat from baby wolf.”

“Not if the wolf is allowed to grow up. I thought I’d explained this to you. That pup is a Hancock of the old Alpha’s bloodline. That’s all wolves understand. I’ve already got my hooks in the legal heir, through my daughter Rakshasi. I want Damien Hancock to die knowing everything he’s built will pass into my hands without a shot being fired. That alone should destroy him. I don’t want another heir muddying the waters. That bitch and her whelp are going to die, and you’re going to do it.”

“No.”

Ghan stiffened. “I’m not familiar with that word,” he said silkily. “Explain to me what it means.”

“Will be no point in killing pup if Seven kills you first. You should be taking precautions. Not threatening babies.”

“And there’s your problem,” Ghan said, “one of your many faults. You’re too short-sighted, Sergei. You’d think one could see further from a height as great as yours. You keep missing the bigger picture. It’s why you’re here, and why she died. I don’t understand why I need to keep reminding you of that.”

Sergei’s face remained a mask. Behind it, his guts were churning. He understood, all right. Zhere Ghan liked to play with his victims. Her death was a knife he enjoyed plunging into Sergei’s heart and twisting, twisting, twisting.

He shut his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Genevieve’s features filled his mind. His love for her filled his soul. Another knife for Ghan to twist in his pursuit of his bigger picture.

But some things were even bigger than Ghan’s stupid pictures. More powerful than power. Zhere Ghan couldn’t see it. That was his major fault.

His eyes opened, to fix in an icy stare on Ghan. “Pup is not important,” he said.

Ghan was occupied with examining a flaw on the leaf of one of his trees. Without even looking around he said, “And what about Genevieve Bordeaux? An exotic dancer in a backwater nightclub. Not even a tiger. How important is she, in the grand scheme of things? Not very, I’m thinking. Although she may matter to some.” He glanced up at Sergei, smiling. “How would you measure the worth of her life, old friend? Against, say, the lives of some wolf bitch and her whelp?”

His growl ripped out of him before he could stop it. Too late, he cut it off. It had already betrayed his one weakness to Zhere Ghan, who had no mercy.

He could kill Ghan, here and now. Wipe that smug grin and those cruel eyes out of existence. He knew a dozen ways to do it. Ghan was strong, but not in Sergei’s league.

And yet he didn’t move. The blood debt, Sergei’s failure, stood between them like a wall.

“I’ll tell you what,” Ghan purred. “Kill Warner Hancock, his bitch and his spawn. Do that and I’ll consider your debt repaid. No strings. All free and clear. I won’t even bother with the dancer. What was her name again?”

Genevieve. He could see her face plainly. How it would twist in revulsion if he completed his mission. How it would appear in death, all light gone from her golden eyes. He felt Ghan’s blade go deep, twisting as it sank.

He ground his teeth and clenched his fists. And nodded.

The delivery man returned, with a second coveralled man in tow. This one was younger, more compact, with huge eyes behind owlishly-large glasses. Both carried pots of orchids. “On the desk,” Ghan ordered. He examined the flowers, then grunted, satisfied. “Excellent.” His dismissal included Sergei. “That will be all.”

The greenhouse workers hurried out. With a more ponderous, leaden tread, Sergei followed.

They parted in the courtyard, the Apex Greenhouse men hastily clambering into their truck. Sergei paid no more heed to them. He didn’t even watch the truck escape through the gates. He stood like a marble statue before the manor door and stared blindly in the direction of Talbot’s Peak. What would she say when she learned he’d bought her life with the murder of a helpless infant? He didn’t even need to speculate. He already knew.

His heart was cold within him. Cold and broken.

# # #

The truck sped down the drive to the main road. Alec couldn’t stop shivering, or saying shit. “Oh shit. Oh shit. They know. They know we’re here and we’re after Ghan. How did they find out? I thought we were—shitshitshit. Was that big monster Sergei?"

“Don’t worry about it,” Irwin said. “It won’t be us going in there, so who gives a fart? You get what you needed?”

Alec settled a little, back on firmer ground. “Easy peasy. He’s got an older system. I send the right signal at the right time and the whole thing goes down, just like with the Hancocks. Oh shit. You don’t think she’ll send Yuri, do you? He’s good, but Sergei—shit.”

“Stefanya knows what she’s about. Long as it’s not us.” Irwin grinned. Alec sort of smiled back. “I keep telling you, mate. No worries.”

Episode 1: The Phantom Menace

Far from Talbot’s Peak …

The man behind the antique mahogany desk carefully considered the reports his agents, the Seven, had sent him. Things had gone quiet of late in the hidden shapeshifter town. The inhabitants scurried to and fro in pursuit of their wretched little dreams. Meanwhile, those who mattered sat back and kept wary eyes on one another, but did nothing other than grow fat.

That would not do. That would not do at all. Peace, even a tenuous peace, did not suit his plans.

He reached for his phone. Time to shake things up a bit.

# # #

The Seven gathered in a corner of the dining room at the inn where Alec had found lodging. The room was practically empty, and the food was indeed as delicious as he’d promised. If only I could enjoy it, Stefanya thought, or anything right now. But they weren’t in Talbot’s Peak on holiday. All enjoyments would have to wait until after their assignment was complete.

She greeted the members of her team and let them engage in a bit of small talk before she got down to business. “I’ve received communication from our employer,” she said.

“About bloody time,” Cloyd the assassin muttered. He stabbed his fork into his salad and decapitated a slice of tomato. “When do we start killing?”

“Not just yet,” she said icily. She knew she should put her emotions on hold, but the sheep just ruffled her feathers. The sheep ruffled everyone’s feathers. She resolved to find a replacement, once their current mission was done. “Our employer gave specific instructions. No deaths yet. Terrorism first. He wants to play a bit.”

Cloyd flashed a smile with little sanity in it. Somehow Stefanya repressed her shudder. “That’s better. My kind of guy.”

“Targets?” Yuri asked. His strong, low voice brought them back on track. She squeezed her lover’s hand beneath the table. Yuri squeezed hers back.

“Three,” she said. “The rancher, Brandon Fledermaus. The real estate mogul, Damien Hancock. The businessman, Zhere Ghan.”

“Don’t you mean the crime boss?” Castor said. “Oh, wait. That could be Hancock.”

“The money men,” Irwin mused, chewing thoughtfully on his lettuce. Stefanya watched in wonder. The Australian botanist had been with the team for three years, and she still wasn’t quite used to the concept of a vegetarian crocodile. “The big boomers. Security out the arse. Getting to them won’t be easy.”

“Which is why I’ve called you together,” Stefanya said. “You’ve had time enough to study the town and its people. What can you tell me of these three?”

“Got it covered,” Castor said. He flipped his placemat over, bummed a pen from his partner Pollux, and swiftly sketched a crude map, with a tall triangle in the center to represent the Peak. “Hancock holdings,” he continued, drawing an irregular circle around the triangle. Most of the town of Talbot’s Peak fell within its radius. “He also owns properties down at the exit. This little wedge here is a dude ranch, right between his western boundary and the start of the Fledermaus spread, which is here.” He drew another circle.

“And here,” Pollux finished, outlining a third circle with the tip of her finger, “is the Ghan compound. Rumor has it he bought the land from Hancock through a proxy, so the wolves didn’t know they’d sold to a cat until the ink was dry. Word is the Big Kahancock isn’t happy about it.”

Castor stared at her. Clearly this was news to him. “Says who?”

Pollux tossed her red-fox hair and grinned at him. “Says every Hancock employee who bought me a drink while you were out marking territories. They’re wolves. A girl just has to shake her tail and they’ll tell her anything.”

Stefanya smiled thinly. Her spies had done well. “Our employer wants us to strike at them in the heart of their own territories. Where they feel the most secure. Which would be … ?”

“Stately Fledermaus Manor is here,” Castor said, marking an X within the one circle. “If you want to call a ranch house stately. He likes the simple life. That’s just the surface, though. Bet he’s got an underground sanctum. Most bat shifters do.”

“If that’s true, he won’t be easy to get at,” Alec said. “I’ve already done a flyover. No outside alarm systems I could see. Inside, no idea. He runs regular patrols, to protect the cattle, I guess. Some of his employees are vampires.”

“Real, or bat shifters?”

“Shifters.” He shivered beneath his pullover sweater. “Fast. And very suspicious.”

“I can get in,” Castor said. “I’ve been there enough in my coyote form. They know I’m not a Hancock wolf, so I get a pass.” He draped his arm over Pollux’s shoulders. “Bet Pol could get in too, if she shook her tail.” She growled at him and shoved his arm away.

Stefanya nodded. “Hancock?”

“He’ll be tougher. His stronghold’s here.” Castor put an X halfway up the side of the triangle. “You and the owl are fine, but those of us without wings are SOL.”

“Not necessarily,” Yuri spoke up. “These American Rockies are no challenge to someone who’s scaled the Himalayas.”

“There’s an elevator inside the mountain,” Alec added, “but yeah, you’d be better off outside. He has next to no electronic surveillance. Mostly relies on his bodyguards. Alpha wolf, y’know. Arrogant.”

“But still a wolf,” Stefanya said, with a worried look at Yuri. “And you’re a cat. If they see you—”

He shook his head with a gentle smile. “They won’t.”

She relaxed. He had a point. Leopards, especially snow leopards, could disappear like ghosts when they wanted to.

Which left their final target, the one that concerned her most, for reasons she would not voice aloud before Yuri. She made sure her voice was steady before she spoke. “Zhere Ghan?”

“Here.” A final X appeared beneath the tip of Castor’s pen. “High walls, armed guards, and tigers out the ass. Good luck getting a closer look.”

“No worries,” Irwin said. “While the rest of you were sitting on your tails, or shaking them around …” He beamed at Pollux, who shot him the finger. “I got a job. Part-time with that greenhouse at the edge of town. They supply plants to offices and other businesses. And to the Ghan place. It’s like a bloody jungle in his office. Tigers do like their greenery. I can draw you a floorplan of the whole flippin’ house.”

“What about a security system?” Alec asked.

“That I don’t know. But tell you what. I’m scheduled to make a delivery at his place three days from now. Come along with me. I’ll distract any prying eyes while you have a go at his systems.” His crocodile grin got wider. “This spying bit is fun. Cas, can I team with you and Pol on our next job?”

The coyote/wolf grinned back. “If you think you can keep up.”

“All right,” Stefanya said. “We narrow our focus to our targets and wait for further instructions. Any questions?”

“Can we kill now?” Cloyd asked.

“Not until we’re told to. Anyone else?”

“I got one,” Irwin said. “Who are we working for? Bloke’s got money, that’s a given, or he couldn’t afford us. But who gives a good bite about a bunch of shifters off in the woods in Montana? I don’t see where bogging up their lives makes a bloody difference to anybody.”

“Clearly it makes a difference to our employer,” Stefanya said, “which is all any of us needs to know. Any other questions? No? Then let’s enjoy our meals. After this we go to work in earnest.”

# # #

Following their meal the team moved on—Castor and Pollux, Irwin with Alec, Cloyd as always alone—until only Stefanya and Yuri remained at the table. She lingered over her coffee, avoiding Yuri’s eyes.

“You’re troubled,” he said. “You don’t care for this assignment any more than Irwin does.”

“Irwin doesn’t like the climate. He can’t stand any place too far from the equator.”

Yuri huffed. “Who are we working for?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He never gave a name. I have no way to contact him. It may not even be a him. He alters his voice electronically and uses an untraceable phone. Alec already tried,” she answered before he could ask the obvious.

But the deposit to her account had been quite real, and quite substantial, if also untraceable. As had the subsequent payments. Normally she would not have questioned so closely. However …

This was Talbot’s Peak. And he was here.

“I don’t know,” she repeated. Except … there’d been something in that altered voice that had seeped through even the masking technology, something that put up her guard. Their employer had an axe to grind with one if not all of their targets. An axe he fully intended to see buried in somebody’s skull before this job was over.

She got up. “I need to fly,” she said. “I’ll be back before dark.” She bent to kiss Yuri. “I promise.”

He nodded, and let her go. He trusted her implicitly. That hurt her most of all, because this time that trust was misplaced. She hurried from the dining room, and barely made it to the inn’s front door before her clothing fell away from her falcon form. She soared into the blessed purity of the open sky, to begin her hunt.

Riders on the Storm

Genevieve awoke to darkness, out of a greater darkness. Sweat chilled her skin. Her heart pounded. The images from her nightmare still played out behind her eyes in sharp, almost painful detail. The visions hadn’t come upon her so powerfully since … she couldn’t remember when.

Two tigers, one black, one white, circling each other like a yin-yang pendant, but in conflict rather than harmony. Change. Lives in the balance. Death. New life: a serene she-wolf with a pup in her arms, like a lupine madonna. And behind it all, a figure with no face, too far away to see distinctly but destined to draw closer. A figure that radiated hatred and insanity.

Then light appeared, pigmentless skin that almost seemed to glow in the dark. Her lover’s hand. Her lover’s voice. Her Sergei.

He spoke to her in Russian, out of habit, then remembered and switched to English. “Lyubimaya. You are safe. Is bad dream, nothing more.”

“Dream, my eye. That was a vision. One bad vision. More than one bad vision.” She heard her own voice cracking under the weight of the Deep South. Whenever she was upset her accent retreated to Georgia, like a puppy crawling under the couch. She swallowed several times until she was sure she could speak clearly and rationally. As if visions of death that came in her dreams could be considered rational.

All the while she wrestled with her nerves Sergei massaged her neck and shoulders with his huge yet gentle hands. That helped. That helped immensely.

At last they settled back against the headboard. Sergei pulled her against his shoulder. “Tell me.”

Gen swallowed one last time, then recited what she’d foreseen. She felt him jerk at the mention of the black tiger, and tense when she described the she-wolf and her child. Oddly, her mentioning the faceless madman did not provoke a reaction. “Aren’t you worried?”

“Did you see yourself? Were you in danger?”

“No … ”

“Then is no need for worry.”

“Says you.” She leaned into him and let herself melt against the strength of his powerful body. “You worry me. What you do and who you do it for.” She turned in his arms to gaze up into his frank blue eyes. “There are shadows in your path. They swirl around you. They threaten to engulf you. You walk a dangerous road, my love. It’s coming to a fork, and both paths lead to destruction.”

He only shrugged, and brushed his lips across her forehead in a feather’s caress. “I have lived a long time. I intend to go on living.”

She thought of the faceless stranger. “What if someone disagrees?”

“Pah. What can they do?”

What indeed? She knew his past, his profession. A seven-foot Siberian tiger shifter trained as an assassin had little to worry about. Except, perhaps, from those who gave the orders.

“Leave him,” she said suddenly. “Leave Zhere Ghan.”

“Eh? What does he have to do with this?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. Somehow he’s at the heart of this. If you stay with him, you’ll die.”

“You work for him too. You must quit, then.”

“Oh, I’m gonna.” Dammit, there was Georgia again. Genevieve cleared her throat. “I’m sick of wagging my tail at that club of his. There’s a new one going up. Miss Penny’s in charge. Lamar’s already jumped ship. He said he’d get me a job if I wanted it. You should, too. Something, anything. Just get away from the Ghans.”

Sergei took her hand. “I can’t. Is blood debt. I can’t leave until debt is discharged.”

“He’ll never let you go. You have to know that.”

“Da. Yes.” He nodded somberly. “That is my charge to bear.”

She clung to his hand. The hand that had caressed her body and brought her to ecstasy so many times. The hand that had killed, also many times. “If we leave the Peak—”

“He will follow. And you will pay the price.” A growl deepened his already cavernous voice. “I will not have that. You see the future, yes?”

“Glimpses. Snatches here and there. My gift’s never handed me a road map.”

“Is enough. We see where to make detour. Nobody dies.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Let’s hope. I’d be happier if—”

“So would I. But is not to be.” He kissed her cheek. “Sleep now. In the morning we look for side roads.”

Gen sighed. There’d be no arguing with him. With his arms around her and her head pillowed on the broad, white expanse of his chest, eventually she fell back to sleep, this time with no dreams.

# # #

While his red wolf lover slept, Sergei lay awake. Thinking. Pondering. Afraid.

He’d told her much about his life, but not in great detail. She didn’t know about the deed that bound him to Zhere Ghan. She didn’t know the Seven had arrived in Talbot’s Peak.

She didn’t know the truth about Mikhail.

He leaped back from that thought to the previous. The Seven hadn’t come here to sight-see, and they didn’t come cheap. Ghan swore he hadn’t hired them. Who else would have the resources?

And why were they here to begin with?

He brooded long on Genevieve’s vision of the wolf and pup. There was something else she didn’t know: his orders from Zhere Ghan regarding Warner Hancock, his wife and their unborn child.

I have plans for Damien and his holdings. We can’t have another heir muddying the waters. Kill the bitch and her whelp. The old dog too, if he gets in the way. I leave that to your discretion.

Sergei had yet to carry out the order. Ghan was becoming impatient.

He didn’t realize he’d tightened his arms around Genevieve until she whimpered for breath in her sleep. He eased up at once. Destruction for sure, my firewolf. If I ignore my orders, Zhere Ghan will destroy me. If I follow my orders, it will destroy the love in those glorious eyes. A broken heart is worse than death. Whose heart must break? Yours or mine?

Not hers. That would never be an option.

Sergei was not a man for prayer. Yet now his lips moved silently in supplication, asking for one side road.

The Little Prince

Nirvana, Zhere Ghan’s club, was packed tonight. At Nirvana, so the adverts promised, the customer was king. The main floor housed the bar, restaurant and dance floor. Upstairs was a second, more intimate bar for parties and assignations. Downstairs were the special rooms. Here all whims could be indulged, and word of any indiscretions would never pass beyond the ornate doors. More exotic whims came with a higher price, with the same privacy guaranteed.

Such policies appealed to a certain segment of Talbot’s Peak’s population. Especially the wolves. Especially the lower-ranked wolves. For a few hours in a private room, every wolf was an alpha. The empty wallet afterwards was worth it.

But not tonight. Not for Devon Hancock.

He slouched at his table in the upstairs suite, and paid no attention to the limber she-wolf currently performing on the stage. “Old leg-lifter,” he muttered into his cocktail. “Old mangy flea-bus.”

Rakshasi draped herself across him and nuzzled his neck. This was an old refrain. Most of the time he was a pleasant assignment: fun, free with his money, exciting in bed. She’d quickly learned, however, to keep him away from excess drink. Too many Punjabi Punches and he tended to turn morose. She much preferred the devil-may-care heir to the Hancock fortune who, she was certain, had fallen in love with her. Who she, against her father’s orders, had found herself falling in love with.

Yes. She, Rakshasi, trained assassin, daughter of Zhere Ghan. In love with the son of her father’s greatest rival. Karma was a bitch indeed.

She’d been told to get close to him, glean what she could of his sire’s doings from him. Kill him, if the situation called for it. That last had been swept off the table some time ago. How her father would roar if he knew!

Her brother Tasman, the club’s manager, prowled along the edge of the room, as always aware of everything. Though not aware of her shifted allegiance. That tidbit she’d kept to herself. He nodded fractionally to her with a wisp of a smile. Keep up the good work. She faked a smile and nodded back.

“You know who I feel sorry for?” Devon said abruptly. “Charlie. Here’s to you, Chuck.” He raised his glass and drained it. A waitress in a skimpy harem costume hurried over to bring him another. Rakshasi waved her away.

“Charlie?” she asked. “Is he a wolf?”

“No, no. Prince Charles. The human. Big shot British ape. Now there’s a dude with a destiny. He was supposed to be the King of England. That’s the only reason he’s here. Heir to the friggin’ throne. And what happened to that? His mom is what happened. The old bitch won’t get off the seat. Won’t retire, just won’t freakin’ die. Where does that leave Charlie? He’s been raised his whole life just for this one thing and now it’s not gonna happen. When Her Maj finally does keel over, Charlie’s pup will be King. Not him. His entire life’s been a waste. He might as well cash it in right now. His time came and went while he was playing polo and waving at the crowds.”

He glared into his empty glass, then stared about for a waitress. Rakshasi caught his face in her hands and turned his head toward her. “This is about your father again, isn’t it?”

“What, me? Mad at Daddy?” he snarled sarcastically. “Now why would I be mad? Just because he hasn’t bothered to train me to take over. Just because he barely talks to me. Always busy. Always the big bad wolf. I might as well not even be here. Why the hell did he even have pups if he never planned to step down?”

Rakshasi laid her hand on his crotch and let her claws out, just a little. Ah. Now she had his full attention.

“Perhaps,” she suggested, “he’s waiting. Waiting for you to challenge him. Prove yourself worthy to lead the pack. Isn’t that how it’s done among wolves?”

Devon blinked, as if this had not occurred to him before. “You think that’s it?”

She moved her hand and slid onto his lap. Her rough tongue brushed his lips. “He fears you,” she whispered. “Your quickness, your youth. How much the other wolves admire you. He won’t give up his power. You’ll have to take it.”

He glanced uncertainly at his cocktail glass. “Is that how tigers do it?”

“Tigers don’t bother with succession. They carve out their own territory.” As she was doing now. A life apart from Father, away from the machinations of the Ghans. Why be content to be a wife, when she could be a queen?

True, a queen of wolves. But wolves were predators, only little different from a cat. And wolves ruled this little piece of America. She could live with that. It was enough to satisfy her, but only if Devon came with it.

All he needed was a nudge in the right direction.

“It doesn’t have to be a public challenge,” she purred. “Private would be better, in fact. No support, no guards.”

Devon paled. “You mean kill him?”

“Not necessarily.” She shrugged. “Defeating him should be enough. He’s old. Ruling a pack so huge must wear heavily on him. He’ll probably be relieved to have you beat him. I understand wolves admire shows of strength.”

“But he’s … ” Devon swallowed. “Big. Bigger than me. He keeps himself in shape.”

“That can be dealt with. I can teach you. Tigers know how to take down prey larger and stronger than themselves. You have only to want it.” Her hands on his face turned demanding. “Do you want to be king?”

For a moment he wavered, and so did her heart. Then his eyes hardened, and she relaxed. There was her predator. Her king wolf. “Yes. About time. About damn time, by Lupa.” He caught her hand in a grip that thrilled her. “You’ll help me prep?”

She had been trained to kill in a dozen different ways. This move would all but kill her father. She relished the idea. “I can teach you how to compensate for his size, plus a few things he won’t be expecting.” Such as a tiger in charge of the Hancock lands. A tiger who was not Zhere Ghan. She savored the taste of that notion as well. “And afterwards … ”

He smiled at her and shoved the empty cocktail glass aside. “I’ll bet there’s a room free downstairs. Would you like a taste of ‘afterwards’?”

“My lord,” she murmured, as her mouth moved to devour his.

Wrapup

“They’re all gone?” Maureen said worriedly. “You’re sure?”

“As can be,” Ewan assured her. “Shaggy and Agent Mulder—I guess that’s Barry and Lowenstein—got run out of town days ago. Jumbo Dumbo’s been sent to a place he won’t be coming back from. Cochrane won’t be back if he knows what’s good for him. Your friend Pete, or whatever he is now, was seen headed for the tiger compound. They’ll deal with him, one way or the other. Zhere Ghan likes to keep a low profile. I think that’s everybody.”

Finally. Now maybe he could stow all this save-the-day scat and get down to the important business of courting his lady. Starting with this romantic breakfast at the Bighorn Diner. The place was packed as usual, but somehow a table for two had materialized when they’d come in. The perks of being a hero.

“Not quite,” Maureen said, still worried. “I wish I knew what happened to—”

“You two ready to order?”

“Ted?” Maureen leaped out of her seat and threw her arms as far as she could reach around the massive bulk of Comic Book Guy. “You’re still here? You’re okay?”

“Yep. Still here and better than okay. Atcheson dumped me here in town, so I figured screw it and went to breakfast. Best decision I ever made. The food here is incredible. And they have all you can eat days. I didn’t want to leave. So the owner, Miss Elly, gave me a job. I work here through lunch, then help out at her husband’s place for a couple hours.” He nodded toward the window, and the Grease ‘n’ Grill visible across the square. “Shifters have been better to me than humans ever were. I’ll be damned if I’ll hunt ‘em any more. I’m out of the cryptozoologist biz. You better be okay with that.”

“Hey, me too.” Maureen returned to her seat. She looked at him critically. “Have you lost weight?”

“Ten pounds,” Ted said proudly. “Miss Elly’s got me on a veggie diet. That’s the only downside. Her boys want me to start working out, and they’re relentless. She’s even got her husband in on it. I’m not allowed to eat over there.” He gazed longingly out the window toward the other diner and its enticing greasy odors. “Vern says he wants me to drop at least a hundred pounds because the way I am now, it’d take a pack to pull me down. He’s joking, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Ewan said. “That’s us. Born comedians.” Except for wolves, who had no sense of humor. No reason for Ted to know that. “We’ll have two specials. Blueberry for me, strawberry for the lady.”

“You betcha. Anything to drink?”

# # #

Eons in the past, in what would one day be Lapland, the mutant creature that had once been Wesley Atcheson surveyed his vast domain. He liked this place. It had the abundant food his mutated metabolism required, plenty of land to roam in, and puny little hairy hominids several hundreds of thousands of years away from inventing the gun. Their arrows and spears couldn’t penetrate his hide. He could stomp them with impunity. And gleefully did, as often as opportunity presented itself.

Best of all, this land was home to a herd of woolly mammoths. They also posed no threat to him, as he was clearly the largest, most powerful male in the territory—a fact not lost on the females. Within weeks he acquired an entourage of cows. Life was good indeed.

Roughly a year from the present day a team of Swedish paleontologists will discover the remains of a monster mammoth preserved in the frozen earth. Their findings throw the world of science into chaos. The human elements in the mammoth’s DNA are attributed to contamination in the lab. The wolf genes aren’t so easily explained. At least one scientist’s career ends in disgrace. The remains are locked away in the hopes they’ll be forgotten.

Reading about the debacle in a scientific journal, Morloxian ponders the discovery, then shakes his head. “Naw. Couldn’t be.”

# # #

“Lord Ghan.” The head of the Tiger Yakuza knelt on the floor before Zhere Ghan’s desk. “We have captured a … creature attempting to enter the compound. It appears to be one of the hated Hancock’s mutant werewolves, but it speaks. It says it is your servant.”

“Indeed?” Ghan’s brain sifted information. He could think of only one “servant” with even a tenuous connection to Hancock’s mutant werewolves. “Where is this creature?”

“Outside. Shall we kill it, Lord?”

“No.” Ghan stood. “Show it to me.”

The mutant werewolf had been bound with ropes and whips. It was ringed by Tiger Yakuza, many with guns. Yet when Ghan approached it, it turned its attention to him and him alone. It bowed as well as it was able. “Lorrrrrrd Ghan.” The Yakuza muttered.

Zhere Ghan stood before the beast. “What is your name?”

“Rrrrrranjeet, Lorrrrrd.”

Ghan considered this. “Leave us,” he told his Yakuza.

The mutters grew in intensity, but Zhere Ghan’s word was law. The Yakuza agents withdrew. Ghan himself removed the werewolf’s bindings. “Report.”

“This one was unsuccessful in securing Dr. Morloxian,” the werewolf growled in Urdu. “I attempted to bring you the mutant mammoth, but I was overcome and the beast was destroyed. I have failed in my mission, lord. I failed you. I offer you my life, and this, my mutant body, as compensation.” Ranjeet bent his head, awaiting execution.

Instead Zhere Ghan rested his hand on the werewolf-creature’s shoulder. “You’re a loyal servant, Ranjeet. I’m sure you did your best. You are to be rewarded. You are now a member of my Tiger Yakuza. The grounds and the forest beyond are yours. You will patrol them and keep us all safe from intruders. Any creature you catch, you may kill. But not eat, unless it’s a true beast. Drive off any shifters you come across, without too much violence if you can. We don’t want any unnecessary problems. Not unless I order it.”

Ranjeet quivered all over like an excited dog. He even dared to lick his master’s hand. “I live to serve you, Lord Ghan.”

“Then get to work. You’ve a territory to guard. You’d best get acquainted with it.”

The wolf-creature bounded off happily. Zhere Ghan smiled, watching him go. Such loyalty. You couldn’t even buy devotion so strong these days.

So he didn’t have Morloxian. Neither did Hancock. That counted as a victory in Ghan’s ledger. Those idiots in town never would have let him keep the mammoth anyway. This was better. He had his own mutant werewolf now, loyal only to him. And soon …

He opened his hand and regarded the long, loose wolf hairs resting in his palm. He bankrolled his own set of Indian scientists, well-schooled in both science and respect to the ancient tiger lords. They’d assured him they were making incredible strides in cloning.

Gray (Wolf) Matter

“I’m sorry, Ewan,” Dante said, and meant it. “We didn’t get to the truck in time. They must have been transferred to another vehicle. I’ve got everyone available looking into it. We’ll find her.” His private cell phone buzzed. “You’ll have to excuse me. I need to take this.” Dante turned away. “Still? What’s so fascinating about that place that the Tiger Yakuza would stake it out?”

Dead end. Ewan wanted to bite something. Scratch that; he wanted to grab hold of something and rip it to pieces. Tiny little pieces. He turned to his only other lead, another dead end but who knew? Sometimes the weirdest little things led to something bigger. “Go through it again. Even stuff that doesn’t seem important.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Deuce, Dante’s double agent in his sire’s pack, shrugged helplessly. “We were headed to the lab in Colorado. Taylor pulled over at the exit to gas up for the trip. Rufe said the air smelled funny. Next thing we know we’re sprawled out on park benches and some cop’s telling us to move along. And the truck’s gone.”

And Maureen, who’d been in the back of the truck, but Deuce was kind enough not to point that out. “Dante found the truck about thirty miles up the interstate. Nobody was in it. They’re combing the area now. We’ll find her, man, I swear.”

“What about the driver?”

“Taylor was with us when we woke up, barfing up his guts like the rest of us. Whoever took the truck left it like we said. Smelled like seven kinds of crap. No idea who or what was driving it. We should’ve picked up Hoover. Maybe he would have known.”

“That fits in with what we found at the lab,” Ewan muttered. “The Doctor took off without telling Hancock. Wherever he took her, he didn’t want Damien to know. That’s why you got gassed.”

And that was that. Nobody’d seen anything. Nobody knew anything. By now Maureen could be in Canada, for all anybody knew.

Dante was still on the phone, grilling his agent over the confusing behavior of the Tiger Yakuza. Ewan caught himself trying to listen in. Something kept nagging at the back of his mind, telling him this was important.

“I know some people,” Deuce was saying. “I can draw on Hancock resources. If we backtrack—”

Ewan waved him off. “Be quiet a minute. I have to think.”

Normally wolves laughed when a coyote said anything about thinking. Deuce just nodded and backed off.

For the last day and a half, ever since Maureen had been snatched from the parking lot, Ewan had been running in wolf mode: find mate, kill something. That had got him a fine pile of squat. He needed his coyote side, and whatever it was that passed for a brain among coyotes.

Wolves think in straight lines. Their brains go from point A to point B without any little side journeys. Give them a task and they stick to it till it’s done. Give them a puzzle and they’ll worry it to death, and usually come up short.

A coyote’s brain doesn’t work that way. A coyote, when he bothers to think, thinks in leaps and hops and zigzags, making connections where a wolf wouldn’t even see a pattern. Especially if there is no pattern. Coyotes don’t need patterns. Their minds are attuned to chaos, out of which they bring, if not order, then at least slightly more ordered chaos. Give them a puzzle and they’ll work it out in seconds and then wander off to see what’s in the fridge, while a wolf is still scratching his ass.

Right after Maureen got kidnapped, a bunch of Yakuza went on the move. You’d think there’d be no connection there, unless you were a coyote. “Who did you guys grab, besides Maureen?” he asked Deuce.

“Two human males. The big blond one knocked her out for us, then Taylor did him the same favor. Then this other guy went up to Taylor and said they were his friends and he couldn’t let him take them. So Taylor knocked him out and took him too. We loaded ‘em into the truck and that was it.”

“What did this other guy look like?”

Deuce shrugged. “Kind of stocky, dark skin and hair, glasses. Some kind of accent. He sort of mumbled when he talked, like he was trying to hide it.”

“What about smell?”

“I was getting to that. He smelled like a spice rack. Stuff I’m not familiar with. I’d hate to see what he gets on his pizza.”

Dark. Glasses. Tried not to talk. The blond, of course, was Atcheson. Shaggy and Agent Mulder had been taken prisoner and were awaiting Dante’s decision on their fates. According to Deuce, the last anyone had seen of Comic Book Guy, he’d been hoofing it over to the Bighorn Diner. “Probably still there,” Deuce said. “It was all you can eat day. Hope Elly stocked up on syrup.”

Silent Sam, Ewan thought. Had to be. He hadn’t said a word the whole time Ewan had been in the motel room. Hiding an accent. From where?

He stopped thinking eyes and started thinking nose. Held hostage in the van. The usual smells: pizza, unwashed monkey, fast-food flavored farts. Maureen’s homey scent, the result of her wolf genes. And just a little whiff of spice, from somebody whose diet didn’t always match up with his buddies’.

“Son of a hound,” he said. “Dante!”

Done with his call, the alpha turned. He raised a brow in inquiry. “The Yakuza. The ones who up and ran off. Where’d they go? What are they staking out?”

“If you must know, they appear to be watching the mini golf down at the exit. They’ve been there for hours.” He eyed Ewan intently. “You think it’s related?”

“Could be. Deuce, how close was that gas station you stopped at to the mini golf?”

“Right up the road, but—”

“But, my butt. Zhere Ghan wants the Doctor too. He snuck a spy into Cochrane’s outfit. A human guy, so Hoover wouldn't spot him. Guy never talked ‘cause they’d wonder about his Indian accent. He just couldn’t live on the junk food, though. Had to eat native every once in a while. It showed up in his scent. He let you boys kidnap him, so you’d take him to the lab. Then he signaled the Yakuza. They’re looking for him now. They didn’t follow the truck because he wasn’t in it. The truck was a diversion. They’re still at the exit.”

Deuce was staring at him like he’d gone scatty. Not Dante. Most wolves couldn’t stand to be around coyotes. Dante always kept a couple on the payroll. Coyotes saw into corners a wolf wouldn't even know were there. “The mini golf was shut down last week,” he said now. “For ‘maintenance.’ Hoover reported it. He wanted to take some girl there and it was closed.”

“Same time as the bugout at the Colorado lab?”

“Roughly.” Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “Take my car. It’s faster than it looks.” He smiled. “Good work.”

“We don’t know for sure yet. It’s only a long shot.”

“It’s all we’ve got. Good hunting.” Ewan bounced the keys in his palm and glanced over at Deuce. “You want in?”

“Sure,” Deuce said. “I owe those monkeys. They made me yark up half my breakfast.”

“Atta boy. Let's go play a round of golf."

Convergence

Overture, curtain, lights. This is it, the night of nights. The players have been introduced, the plot is rolling, the stage is set. That stage is Talbot’s Peak.

# # #

Out at the exit, the police release the Scooby Gang at dawn. They have no real charges to hold them on—everyone agrees Cochrane, currently MIA, was the only one with a gun—and the cops need the cells for the drunk drivers and brawlers that litter the strip every Saturday night. Even Barry receives a “Get Out of Jail Free” card. While the others were ditching their knives, he was flushing his last bag of Panama Red. Barry’s from California. He knows the drill.

The cast assembles at the far end of the cop shop parking lot: Atcheson (“Freddie”), Barry (“Shaggy”), Ted (“Comic Book Guy”), and Lowenstein (“Agent Mulder”). Atcheson tries Cochrane’s number and gets no response. Ditto for Maureen and Pete. He pockets the phone with a vicious oath, his face contorted in frustration.

“What now?” Lowenstein says. “Breakfast?” Ted asks hopefully.

“Screw breakfast,” Atcheson says. His eyes are glittering. This is his chance to seize command, and he grabs it with both hands. “We have to find Cochrane. The werewolf bit him. He’s a monster now, just like the rest of them. He has to die. For his own good,” he quickly adds, noting the expressions of alarm on the faces of his team. “Nobody wants to live as a monster. He’ll thank us, believe me.”

After a moment, they reluctantly nod. Like Ewan before him, Atcheson reaches the conclusion his partners aren’t very bright. That doesn’t dull the thrill of power becoming their new leader gives him. Hunting and killing monsters is what he was born to do. Especially the killing part.

He gives his first orders. “Cochrane’s bound to head for Talbot’s Peak. That’s where we need to go.” He gazes around the parking lot. The motel’s at least a mile away, and the van may not even be there. On the other hand, half a dozen cop cars are parked on the lot, just sitting there. “How are your hot-wiring skills?” he asks Lowenstein. Lowenstein wriggles his fingers and grins.

Ted stares longingly at the string of fast-food places that line the commercial strip, and sighs. There goes breakfast. Maybe they can stop for something on the way.

# # #

Already miles along the road to Talbot’s Peak, Cochrane floors his Chevy, throttles the wheel and grits his teeth. He got away from the alien bunny probe-free, only to discover his arsenal in the trunk was gone. Goddamn freaks. However, they missed the pistol and full clip of ammo he had hidden under the driver’s seat, and the three grenades in the glove compartment. That’s all he’s got left to wipe an entire town full of shapeshifters off the map.

And he’s naked. Again.

“Sons’a bitches,” he snarls. If that’s all he has to work with, so be it. They’re monsters. One way or another, they’re going to die. Vern and the Mayor first. He’s going to twist their heads off their necks with his bare hands. More satisfying anyway. As for the wolf boy, Cochrane can’t wait to beat his head in with the cast on his broken wrist. Wolf Boy gave him that cast. It has symmetry.

A rabbit takes a tentative hop onto the side of the road. Cochrane swerves to run it down. The rabbit makes a frantic dive back into the underbrush, inches ahead of the Chevy’s tires. The car rockets on up the road.

“They’re all gonna die,” Cochrane vows. Yeah, even the bunnies. Especially the bunnies.

# # #

Some miles behind Cochrane and ahead of the Scooby Crew, Ranjeet Patel, aka Pete, aka Silent Sam, drives his own stolen vehicle at a moderate pace along the road to Talbot’s Peak. His trained eye spots the “checkpoints” he’s been warned about. He keeps well within the speed limit. The wolf clan will have agents stationed all along this road. He does not want to draw their attention.

Zhere Ghan’s empire has long employed human servants, even before the tiger lord came to America. Ranjeet’s family has served the House of Ghan for generations. Somebody has to keep the poachers away from the tigers’ pelts. The Ghans were the first shifter clan to recognize the need to fight fire with fire.

Now the wolf lord, Damien Hancock, has stolen that idea. He’s found a human willing to turn other humans into beasts. Lord Ghan wants this human. Ranjeet is to see that he gets him.

The Doctor will not be in Talbot’s Peak itself, but those who know where he is will be. Ranjeet has a name and a species (Ewan the wolf) and a place to start (Dante’s bar). If Vishnu favors him, he will accomplish his mission without the need for violence. Violence is messy, and ruins one’s day.

Violence is what the Tiger Yakuza is for. At a single phone call a dozen ninja will swoop in and do what they do best, once Ranjeet provides them with a location. He himself will secure the Doctor. Some things must be handled personally, to ensure success.

He spots the gleam of saffron eyes by the side of the road, reflected off the headlights. He’s not worried. Cochrane will be travelling this same road, if he isn’t already. The man is insane, and so will make an excellent diversion. While the wolf lord deals with him, Ranjeet can slip in and accomplish his task.

He turns on the car’s radio and whistles along with the tune that comes on. One by one he passes the checkpoints, unhindered.

# # #

These are the pawns. The two kings in this chess game, Zhere Ghan and Dante, stand alert in their command centers and direct their men across the board. Dante gulps coffee. Zhere Ghan sips tea. No one knows where Damien Hancock is, or where he’s hiding his Doctor. Securing that knowledge is the top priority for both sides.

The sun rises on a Talbot’s Peak teetering on the brink of assault from numerous directions. Its populace has no clue. If Dante has his way, they never will. Zhere Ghan is less caring of the pawns. If some of them, including the Doctor, die in this skirmish, so be it. That’s all pawns are for.

# # #

Ewan and Maureen? They’re down in the kitchen of the Pleasure Club, feasting on sandwiches cobbled together from whatever’s been left over from the dinner rush. Maureen wonders if she’ll ever become a real werewolf. Ewan wonders if he’ll ever get to see her tits. They’re the only players on the board not looking to kill anybody. Poor bastards, they haven’t a chance.

Hasta la Vista, Baby

(We now rejoin our regularly scheduled serial story, already in progress)

Cochrane knew better than to put up a fuss when the police charged their motel room. An old hand at dealing with the law, he tossed his gun under the bed and then demanded to be taken to the hospital, citing his broken wrist. The rest of the team took their cue from him and dropped to their knees with their hands clasped behind their heads. An ambulance was duly summoned. The cops took statements and checked IDs while they waited for Cochrane’s transport.

Cochrane knew searching the room would come later, after they’d been hauled off for questioning. Let ‘em find the gun. It and the team’s knives were nothing, small fry in the order of ordinance. The real arsenal, with which he intended to assault Talbot’s Peak, remained hidden in the trunk of his car. As long as the cops missed that, his plans could proceed with only minor delay.

Around this time the desk clerk and the manager showed up and informed Cochrane and his henchmen they would have to vacate the room immediately, no refunds. Cochrane told them the sheets hadn’t been clean anyway. Then the ambulance arrived and Cochrane was carted off to the hospital, while the others were conducted to the police station.

At the end of the X-rays, shots and bandaging Cochrane announced his pressing need for a toilet. The doctor pointed him down the hall. His police guard had gone to get coffee. Cochrane detoured at the first side corridor, found a stairwell, and followed it to an emergency exit. He emerged into an empty night. Small-town cops, gotta love ‘em. They weren’t paid enough to be good at their jobs.

Shortly, safe in a Denny’s half a mile from the hospital and with half a cup of coffee in his belly, Cochrane took out the cell phone the cops’ pat-down had missed, and called Atcheson. His big blond aide-de-camp answered on the fifth ring. “Sir! Are you safe?”

“For the moment,” Cochrane said. “What about you? I take it you boys are in the hoosegow. This line secure?”

“Yeah, they’re questioning us. I’m alone right now. That damn dog in the parking lot, it … well, the cops are pretty much leaving me on my own until I can catch a shower.” He lowered his voice. “They didn’t get all of us. Pete and Maureen are still on the loose.”

“Have they charged any of you with anything?”

“Barry, maybe. Depends on if he had any weed on him. We all ditched our knives when we realized there were cops on the way. You were the only one with a gun.”

“Then you should be good where you are. Sit tight and don’t tell them anything. I’ll see if I can get in touch with Maureen and Pete. One of them will be by to bail you out, assuming the police don’t just release you. Technically we’ve done nothing.”

“Except fire a gun in a motel room.”

“They’ll have to catch me first.” Which was unlikely. Cochrane took a sip of his coffee. This might be the perfect time to dump his half-wit helpers. They’d proven marginally useful up until now, tracking down monsters for him to kill and doing far more tedious research than he would have himself. When it came to the crunch, however, none of them truly had a hunter’s heart. Except perhaps for Atcheson, who could be a bit too enthusiastic sometimes.

Yeah, he’d be better off cutting them loose. He knew what he’d be facing in Talbot’s Peak, and he’d always worked better alone. “Just keep your mouths shut,” he told Atcheson. “I’ll be in touch.” He cut the connection and deleted the team’s numbers from his phone.

Better fuel up. No telling when he’d get a chance to eat again. Then hike back to the motel and pick up his car. Then on to Talbot’s Peak. Once there … Cochrane scowled at the cast on his wrist and put a new name at the top of his list of freaks to wipe out first.

# # #

In the restroom of the diner across the street from the Rocky Top Motel, a stocky young man with glasses and dark skin took out a cell phone and punched in a number on speed dial. His name was neither Silent Sam, as Ewan Carter had dubbed him, nor Pete, as he was known to his cryptozoologist companions. They would have had trouble pronouncing his real name, or questioned the accent he hid by keeping silent as much as possible.

He spoke now into the phone, in terse Urdu. “The mission has been compromised,” he informed his true employer. “The team has been taken into police custody. The hunter has been taken to hospital with a minor injury. I doubt he’ll stay there long.”

“I agree. He’ll head straight for the Peak and wreak havoc. Let’s let him go about his business. Havoc fits well with my plans.”

“There’s more, lord. The wolf they captured spoke of a Doctor who created Hancock’s mutant werewolves. He later denied it, but still. This is the first true confirmation we’ve had regarding Hancock’s pet scientist.”

The other hissed in a quick breath. “Where is the wolf?”

“He escaped, lord. Apparently he had a cohort. I assume he’s on his way to Talbot’s Peak.”

“It always comes back to that cursed town, doesn’t it? Very well. Return to Talbot’s Peak. See if you can find that wolf, and keep an eye out for the hunter. Hancock’s scientist holds the key to creating an unstoppable army. I will have that scientist, and that key. And Talbot’s Peak, in due time.”

“Pete” bowed minutely over his phone. “Yes, Lord Ghan.”