Full Moon Blues (Puppyville Pack)

­

F
ern Publications

Full Moon Blues
© September 2015 by Fel Fern

All rights reserved:
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.

Full Moon Blues

A Puppyville short story

Everyone knows being outside on a full moon is bad luck because it’s when shifters come out to mate. I didn’t ask the universe to throw a wrench in my plans, but here I am. My car dies in front of Puppyville, a happy little town populated by bloodthirsty werewolves. Just when I thought I managed to survive being run over by the local pack, my troubles are just beginning.

The shifter who looks like he wants to devour me is none other than James “Jimmy” Travis, my high school crush...except I no longer recognize this hard stranger with the ink and scars. If Jimmy thinks I’m about to roll over and play dead, he has another thing coming. Werewolf or not, I’m about to prove to Jimmy he’s not the only one capable of taking bite-sized pieces.

Chapter One

Full Moon Blues

A Puppyville short story

By Fel Fern

M
y faithful old red Toyota gives out one last shudder and dies. Stops right there. In front of a bright sign that says ‘Welcome to Puppyville’. For a second, my heart wouldn’t stop hammering against my chest. For a second, I think I’m having a mini heart attack, but it soon passes. I take deep breaths, and roll down my window. Above me, the bloated moon rises over the bright night sky.

Full moon.
A shiver creeps down my spine.

“This fucking day can’t get any worse,” I whispered to myself.

I’m gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles turn white. At twenty-two, I’m dead broke and burned out quickly from my stressful job back at the agency. With a mountain of school debt and an apartment I couldn’t afford, I decided on impulse to take the coward’s way out. My trunk contained most of my life’s belongings. I wasn’t running away. I like to think of it as a sabbatical to clear my head.

Destination? Anywhere and nowhere.

I planned to head into a charming little town. Get a room at an inn, then head out to a roadhouse or bar, get drunk and be ridden by a cowboy or some drool-worthy redneck. Labor day means plenty of fish in the ocean, and not-so-picky fish at that, and I’m not exactly drool-worthy material, just an average guy hoping to score.

So here I am. Car dead on an empty one-way road that led to a town most sensible humans would want to avoid. You see, despite the big reveal of the supernatural world, most folks don’t go rushing into a town ruled by a vicious pack of werewolves. Oh. The town isn’t cut off. Nothing like that, but the local human authority here is just for show. This land is essentially, Puppyville pack territory and rumor has it they don’t take well to outsiders.

It doesn’t help being out on a full moon is close to suicide. Werewolves don’t become slaves to the call of the moon, but I hear their inner beasts are more difficult to control at this time of the month.

“Only two types of idiots go out on a night like these,”
my momma (bless her heart), used to say.
“Those who ask for it, get a thrill out of being bait in the hopes of banging a werewolf. And the second sort? They are the folks who don’t value their lives.”

A loud rumbling howl comes from somewhere in the woods surrounding the town. All the hairs on my arms rise as more growls answer the leader’s call. The sounds come closer and I nearly unleash my bladder. I try to calm my shakes and slow my heart because that’s the only logical thing to do when facing a savage predator. Don’t be afraid, except it’s hard to keep still. Whatever courage I summon splinters and I had little to begin with.

Only the headlights of my car illuminate the path ahead of me. One black shape darts towards me at a full rampage.

“Oh my Lord,” I whisper. I’ve never been a praying man, but all the prayers I learned during Sunday school begin spilling from my lips. The Big Guy upstairs must have heard my prayer, because the shape darts past me. “Momma, I swear I’m going back to church after this.”

The promise is short lived because a second blur follows the first. Then another. My human vision catches sight of glowing yellows eyes, sharp fangs and canines dripping with God knew what. I’m beginning to hyperventilate. My chest threatens to explode, although a detached part of me marvels at the deadly beauty of these nightmares come to life.

“Screw this. I’m going to live,” I say to myself. Sagging to my seat as the last of the herd passes me, I breathe a sigh of relief. Needing air, I stumble out and end up on my hands and knees. Tiny stones and gravel bite into my jeans and creates small gashes on my palms.

“I’m alive.” I repeat the two words over and over until they sink home. Feeling the heavy weight of someone watching me, I twisted my head. Seeing the enormous sandy-colored beast a couple of meters from my sprawled figure jump starts my pulse. Its narrowed amber eyes watch me with unnerving interest.

“Nice doggy,” I begin. A huge mistake. The animal snarls, baring wickedly sharp teeth. “I mean wolf, nice wolf.”

The werewolf comes closer and I don’t need to be an animal whisperer to read the intent in its gaze. This thing, this monster wishes me violence of the most unpleasant sort. I urge my legs to run, except I’m rooted to the spot. All my muscles seem paralyzed, no matter how hard I silently scream at them to move.

Then the hard truth settles in. No matter how hard I run, I wouldn’t get very far. I’m only human. This werewolf is a killing machine and it’s out for blood and meat. Tales of rabid shifters ripping their prey to unrecognizable bits and pieces come to mind. Dying by werewolf isn’t the way I envisioned leaving the world. Hell, it’s everyone’s nightmare.

A second bass growl returns me to reality. My mouth goes dry as I spot another bastard enter the scene. He’s huge, larger than the first, and his fur is jet-black.

“Oh God.” I can’t seem to say anything else. The sound catches the attention of the black wolf. He turns his inhuman gaze towards me. For a second, I imagine something close to human emotion settling there—surprise, then recognition.

Maybe I’m delusional, but the sandy colored beast gives the black an answering howl of challenge.

Then, the sandy beast charges at the black, fangs bared and ready for the kill. It takes me a second to realize these two monsters are fighting over who would get me first.

Hell. If they think I’ll simply stay here gawking and looking pretty, they had another thing coming. Hearing their two figures collide, I scramble to my feet. I don’t hesitate. I break into a run. Now, I’m not a runner. In fact, I’m not what you call ‘sporty’. I’m the slightly overweight kid in high school who keeps thinking of creative excuses to skip gym.

I don’t get very far. In fact, in five minutes or so I’m panting. My legs feel like they’re on fire. The black lets out a howl that suspiciously sounds like triumph. Even though I shouldn’t, I risk turning back for a look. The sandy wolf lies limp on the ground, either dead or unconscious. I’m betting the former.

Why I stopped running I didn’t know. Maybe I knew this was the end game and the script says I’ll be at the losing end no matter how hard I try, or perhaps it was the way the black beast seemed to recognize me.

“Don’t hurt me,” I whisper, but I’m pretty sure he hears it with his supernatural hearing.

Under the kiss of moonlight, fur ripples and recedes to human skin. A man replaces the beast—a very naked and gorgeous specimen if I may add. My mouth goes dry. I shamelessly rake him with my eyes from top to bottom. His face is cloaked by shadows, but I glimpse the hint of stubble under a stubborn jaw and eyes that glow golden under the moon. I drag my gaze lower, licking my lips at his wide shoulders, well-defined arms, his lean pecs and six-pack, before I catch sight of the monster dangling between his legs.

His cock is thick, long, erect and pointing towards my direction. I swallow, thinking I’ve never had anything of that size in me. A part of me is yelling, telling me to keep on running, but that logical part is slowly being eroded away by the primal side of me. The part that wants to get down and dirty, that keeps on walking towards the stranger instead of backing away.

There’s an indescribable magnetism drawing us near.

“Are you going to hurt or kill me?” I ask, finding my voice.

A laugh, deep and rich, rolls out from him. Something about that laugh reminds me of someone, and I understand why. My heart begins a gallop, for reasons different from fear.

“That’s the last thing I want to do to you, Lee Jones.”

The sound of my name jolts me back to reality. Only inches separate us now. I finally put a name to that face. James Travis. My high school crush, and the golden boy quarterback of Stone Valley high. James supposedly went off the radar, according to my momma, who always knew everything about everyone back in my hometown of Stone Valley.

“James Travis. You’re alive?” My voice sounds shaky, and unlike me.

I have trouble tracing the dotted lines and connecting this stranger to the boy I fantasized about in the shower and in my room. Back then, I hid my sexuality in the closet. It was only natural given the religious nature of Stone Valley. James didn’t make my life hell like the other bullies. We’ve exchanged the occasional ‘hi’ and ‘what’s up’ in the corridors, but James is the kind of guy everyone falls in love with. Turning into a werewolf must have changed him badly, because I don’t recognize this dark and brooding stranger who’s openly looking at me like I’m something good to eat.

“Jimmy,” he says, tone harsh.

“Excuse me?” I’m growing more aware of his lack of clothes and it’s downright distracting. I’m doing my best to angle my body sideways, so he can’t see my member perking up. My jeans feel so damnably tight and despite the chilly night, it feels like my body’s temperature is off the charts.

“My friends call me Jimmy. Only my foster parents call me James.”

“Jimmy then,” I say.

A glint appears in his eyes, both playful and menacing at once. “Don’t bother hiding anything from me, Lee. I can smell your arousal and mine.”

Wow.
I’m a little stunned by his bluntness. Truth be told I’m downright terrified of Jimmy at this instant, and inappropriately excited at once. I don’t know if these emotions are induced by my near-scrape with death, or seeing my crush here of all places.

My instincts of self-preservation should tell me to run. To get back in front of my wheel, and hope layers of metal protect me, but instead I ask, “How do you remember my name? I mean, we hardly spoke in high school.”

“I remember you plenty, Lee Jones.” Jimmy smiles, showing me an eyeful of his inhuman sharpened canines.

If I peer closer, I can see it. The shadow of the boy I knew back in high school who’d show me kindness, who saw me as another human being when others only saw a fat kid to pick on. Maybe I’m imagining it all, but it’s nice to be wanted. When it came to relationships, I never had any luck, even in college.

“You said you don’t mean me ill,” I remind him. Jimmy takes a step closer, golden gaze filled with intent—of what sort I didn’t know yet. I’m a poor player when it comes to flirting games, but something tells me this isn’t a game. One wrong move and I’ll end up like the other wolf lying by the side of the road.

Seeing where my gaze lay, Jimmy laughs. “Don’t you worry, little human. Paul isn’t dead, just unconscious.”

“Why would you do that? Hurt your pack mate?”