Doe and the Wolf (Furry United Coalition, #5) (2 page)

“So how much was this guy worth?”

Not anything close enough to get himself the brand new dream truck—fully loaded with GPS, a kick ass sound system and heated seats—he was eyeing over at the dealership, but it would pay his utility bills and mortgage for the month. Bounty hunting, while fun, was hard work. Yes, it could pay, but how much really depended on the skipper. It definitely wasn’t a steady paycheck. Not all criminals chose to run out before their court dates, but still, Everett loved the adrenaline rush that came with the job.

Speaking of which, the fax machine hummed.
Excellent.
It looked like a new assignment was coming down the wire. The paper was still warm when Everett snagged the bulletin as it spat out of his printer. His brows lifted as he noted the header then lifted higher when he read the content of the fax.

“Dude, check this out.” He handed the sheet to Tom.

Not given to extreme emotional outbursts, even the stoic Tom whistled. “I’ll be damned. They must be desperate if they’re asking you for help.”

The who in question was his old FUC employer.

To the attention of Everett Johnson, Fugitive Recovery Agent of the Lone Wolf Agency

As you may be aware, there was an incident a while back with a certain rodent involved in experimentation. While the wily mammal in question was dealt with, some of its involuntary companions escaped custody. While a large number have been apprehended or accounted for, it has come to our attention that a certain violent predator has been spotted in your area. Despite your lack of agent status, we would like to hire your services in tracking and eliminating the creature currently terrorizing the campers at your nearby national park. You will of course be suitably rewarded.

The possibility exists that more than one suspected animal is in the park. Use extreme caution. The subjects are considered armed and extremely dangerous.

Sincerely,

FUC Management

“Hot damn. They must really be overworked if they’re asking you for help,” Tom said after he finished reading aloud the missive, his tone rife with disbelief.

“They’ve got a lot of nerve, that’s for sure.” Bitter? Him? Darned straight he was. Getting fired, while a good thing in the end for his paycheck, still rankled.

“You going to give them a hand? Or tell them to shove it where the sun don’t shine?”

“And pass up a chance not only for money but a great big middle finger on their mistake in letting me go? Hell no. I’ll capture their escaped woodland creature. I mean, did you see the list of suspects? A deer, a cat, a gecko and an ostrich, just to name a few. Piece of freaking bacon. I’m a wolf. We serve these animals as appetizers at family get-togethers.”

Funny how fate had a way of making a wolf eat his words.

Less than a week after getting the fax, Everett wished he’d not acted so cocky and that he’d gotten more information. Reading that the animals he was chasing were a little different due to some experimentation did not prepare a man to meet the monstrous thing face to face.

A gecko should not tower eight feet tall with six inch fangs or possess claws sharp enough to slice and dice his carcass into hairy julienne fries. As if to add insult to injury, no one had mentioned the bloodlust this creature suffered from, a slavering madness not usually seen outside of horror movies.

I should have brought a gun.
But, oh no, he preferred the paws-on approach.

Scuttling through the low underbrush, Everett’s wolf form blended well with the shadows, but it didn’t prevent the mutant gecko from tracking him with ease, knocking aside branches and saplings as if they were mere matchsticks in its path.

Goddamn. What kind of steroids was this thing fed to make it so big
? Injured, and limping along on three legs, Everett couldn’t outrun it, and he’d lost Tom a few miles back. The sloth couldn’t keep up, and a good thing too. Tom wouldn’t stand a chance against this oversized lizard, which, despite evolution and what online sources claimed, could run on two or four legs.

Bursting from the edge of the forest, Everett skidded to a halt, the sharp drop-off of a bluff signaling the end of this path.
Just freaking great.
He whipped around as the crashing of branches and underbrush drew closer. And closer.

What to do? He couldn’t fly—and he wasn’t Wile E. Coyote to jump off the cliff holding a sign saying
Help!
He bore no weapons save his teeth and claws, which did some damage against the leathery skin of the behemoth hunting him, just not enough to stop it. Bad odds or not, he wouldn’t go down cowering. Even if he didn’t stand a chance, he’d do his damnedest and fight.

The stench of his opponent reached him a moment before it appeared. Jaws open wide in a slobbering grin, the lime green gecko with gray splotches lumbered on two legs from the woods, its stubby front arms waving.
All the better to grab me with.

Everett switched back to his human form and tried diplomacy—something he’d flunked when in school. “I don’t suppose we could discuss this?”

“Urgle. Muaha, Blerg.”

While he couldn’t decipher the words, Everett deemed the razor-tipped claws that reached for him a definitive no. He dove out of the way, rolling as he hit the ground and coming up with a stray tree limb. He swung it.
Thunk
. He managed a solid blow against the monster’s side, which had absolutely no effect.

The creature grasped at his staff and yanked it from his grip, a big bully taking away his toy. Not good. Then he lunged at Everett, who tried to dodge; however, his injured leg buckled at the sudden movement, and the gecko got a hold of him.

Wrestling on the edge of the precipice, Everett stared into the face of death, and damn was it ugly—not to mention in dire need of some dental floss.

I do believe I see some campers stuck between his front teeth.

As his rib cage compressed in a hug, he couldn’t escape, and his eyesight blurred, Everett continued to struggle; however, the only things he could move were his legs. Everett wasn’t one to discount a dirty shot when his life depended on it. Up came his knee, right into the fleshy area between the thing’s legs.

What do you know, he’d found a vulnerable spot. With a bellow of pain, the monster let go. A good thing in most circumstances, but as Everett plunged down, down, down, the ground receding above him, he managed to utter one final, “Ah, hell. I wish I’d learned to swim.”

But that proved a moot point because as soon as he hit the water, head first, he blacked out.

H
er furry ears twitched and she paused in her grazing.
What was that?

The usual noises of the forest died down. Something spooked the wildlife. But what? And more importantly, should she flee or investigate?

Could be nothing.
It didn’t take much to send the less evolved wildlife that lived in these parts into hiding. Taking a few ginger steps toward the edge of the forest, she strained to hear what spooked them.

Dawn heard the distinctive groan before she saw the body. He was splayed on the shore, a naked, muddy mess. Her first instinct was to run, dash into the safety of the forest and hide. Running a year ago would have saved her the nightmare of captivity. But her tender nature, then and now, saw her picking her way daintily across the slick stones lining the river’s edge.

As if sensing her approach, the injured man raised his head and muttered a very distinctive, “Fuck.”

Eep! Instinct took over, and she trotted back to the safety of the forest. She huddled behind a tree, holding her breath and listening. No sound of pursuit. Peering around the edge of the trunk, she noted he laid where she’d left him, on his stomach now, unconscious again, a helpless victim and an easy feast for the predators who lived within the woods.

Not her problem.

He groaned again.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Her subconscious kept repeating it over and over, yet she couldn’t help herself from approaching the large, soaked form washed up on the shore, the coppery scent of blood perfuming the air. Stupid of her or not, her grandmother had raised her to always lend a helping hoof. It would have been nice if that hoof came with a stretcher.

Eyeing the body on the ground, Dawn wasn’t quite sure what to do. On the one hand, the stranger was in obvious need of assistance. The numerous contusions and gashes that bled all over his nude body screamed, ‘Requires medical attention now!’ However, at the same time, the man was a predator, a Lycan to be exact, or so her twitching nose claimed. There was something inherently wrong about a doe helping a wolf.

Or there would be, if this were still the dark ages before the shifter council had formed and outlawed the hunting of weaker sentient breeds. Still...
I am supposed to be hiding.
Hiding from the humans. Hiding from her own kind. And, most especially, hiding from FUC, the agency that first promised to help her, then, because of a miscalculation on their part, issued orders to terminate her.

Is it my fault I’m a little different?

Lamenting over her fate didn’t solve her current dilemma. Help the wolf or let him die? That was what it boiled down to. She knew what her mother and father would say; however, Dawn had left home to escape their archaic ways. With a heavy sigh, Dawn shifted, and hoped the male would have the decency to ignore her nudity if he happened to regain consciousness. She bent at the knees, grabbed a hold of him under the armpits, and heaved.

He didn’t budge, not even a quarter of an inch.

Hmm. That didn’t bode well. She thought of fetching her first aid kit and patching him up on the shore, but the forest noises made by stirring predators, some of them daring to come closer because they scented weakness and blood, changed her mind. Even if she did bandage the male where he lay, she couldn’t leave him defenseless and comatose.

Time to put her Girl Scout badges to use, that and some of her newly acquired skills, courtesy of one demented mastermind intent on ruling the world. Thankfully, that plan was foiled, but the results lingered. But would they work on something so large?

She regarded the injured male, a finger tapping her chin. Definitely taller than her petite five-foot-three stature and heavier than her chubby one-hundred-and-fifty-pound frame. His body wasn’t overly muscled, but it was well toned, his arms thick with muscle and his thighs corded as well. She couldn’t have said if he was handsome or not. His longish hair masked his features, along with streaks of blood and mud. Studying him was well and good, but it didn’t help to get him to safety.

But how am I supposed to do it alone?
Or more accurately, how could she accomplish her task without tapping into her other half, her mutated half?

She sighed. Since her rebirth at the hands of the mastermind, Dawn had discovered some interesting side effects. Most of them involved physical changes to her once delicate and gentle doe side, changes she preferred not to dwell on. However, there was one thing that might prove handy, a new special ability that she could draw upon while human even. Telekinesis. She could move things with her mind, well, little things at least as far as she knew. She’d never tried with anything bigger than a coffee cup, this new aspect a recent and frightening power to someone who’d only ever aspired to a normal life.

All I ever wanted was a husband, kids, and a white picket fence in the suburbs.
Instead, she’d ended up a fugitive from her own kind, could shapeshift into Frankendoe and, like an X-Man, or X-Girl, could move things if she concentrated hard enough.

Clenching her fists and gritting her teeth, she stared at the wolf, willing him to rise. He remained slumped. Fudge on a stick.
Don’t tell me my powers are gone.
For some reason the moment brought to mind
Star Wars
and a scene where Luke was bitching to Yoda that he couldn’t lift his starcruiser because it was too big.
Feel the force, Dawn.
And don’t giggle.

Determined, she concentrated harder, and the stranger’s body trembled. She dug her nails into her palms and willed him up, and yes, he rose!

Back she inched, sweat pearling on her brow as she hovered him from the stream’s edge to the firmer ground of the embankment. She managed about six feet before he dropped, her trembling frame unable to retain the concentration needed. Not far enough.

Drained, she slumped to the ground. This wasn’t going to work, not when the cabin and her supplies remained a few hundred yards away still. Since she lacked the power to move him with her telekinesis, she resorted to using her brain. No matter which way she puzzled it, she needed some supplies, so, like it or not, she needed to leave him alone for a few minutes. Back she shifted into her doe—because naked streaking women in the woods tended to garnish attention. On four agile, overly large hooves, she ran to her hiding spot where she fetched an old blanket and some rope. Returning just as quick, she breathed a sigh of relief to find him untouched and where she’d left him. Despite her fatigue from all the shifting, and the use of her power, she once again took to her human shape. She constructed a stretcher using two long, fairly straight branches with the fabric lashed between them. She then created a harness of sorts.

Using her telekinesis, Dawn dredged deep and found enough mental juice left to heave him onto her makeshift stretcher. Then, she called forth her doe. Without hands, it proved a little tricky to guide the rope halter over her head and around her neck, but she managed. Then, like a packhorse, she dragged and pulled home her riverside find, to do what with she didn’t know. But, despite what her new feral side suggested, she wasn’t about to have him for dinner basted in barbecue sauce. Or keep his fur as a rug.

O
ut she ventured from the edge of the woods with dainty steps that still crushed the foliage underfoot. Bleary-eyed, Everett tried to make sense of what he saw but couldn’t, his injuries too great. One thing he did know, was his mind was not working at full speed because what Everett saw made no sense, and blinking didn’t make it any better. He must have whacked his head good.