until Hank Wyatt yelled, “Get that shit out of her way.” He was boss hereabouts and the men jumped to it. Because of him, not for her.
As she pushed her bike through the narrow opening they cleared, she heard one man say, “Donnie’ll be a gibbering idiot even if he pulls through.”
Not content with just insults, Eldon Brown lobbed a chunk of coal, missing her shoulder by an inch as he hissed, “Witch.”
On the other side of the mountain of coal, she remounted and drove toward home. Because Miz was intoxicated on filth and leftover power, her speed was slower around the curves than usual. She had to navigate through another line of cars filled with people heading to the city for the night. Cell phones were deader than Job’s ass up here. Stalled travelers tried to flag her down to find out if they should turn back and go home or if help had arrived on the other side.
Miz ignored the questions all the way to Bitter Creek Holler, veering on to the narrow unpaved road. It was little more than a beaten path wide enough for a small car. When she was alone and out of sight, she stopped, dismounted and vomited until her throat was raw.
* * * * *
The cat had been lazily interested in the scene below. His man had too. Neither had held out much hope for the guy covered in coal. Both had come to attention when the woman appeared. The man appreciated a fine ass when he saw it and focused. The jaguar admired her lithe movements and open aggression. Both grunted approval when she elbowed her way through the men to crouch over the body. She was strong and sleek.
He’d wanted to follow her when she’d navigated through the barrier and started down the other side. But his man was tied to the vehicle he’d left among others like it. Reluctantly he let his other being tuck him deeper inside as they returned to the rented SUV and climbed in. Still more beast than man, he fitted sunglasses over eyes irritated and gritty from his recent change.
The cat loved the trees, the rocks, the water—pretty much everything about this place. The man slapped another mosquito away and disagreed. Of all the areas in the world he could have been sent, West by God Virginia was the last place on earth he’d have chosen.
Grimly the man drove to the cabin where he stayed and pushed the beast deep while he prepared to fight off another battalion of bugs that would attack at dusk. The jaguar stretched and yawned. It didn’t matter. As soon as it was dark, he’d prowl and leave the insects to suck on someone else. Meanwhile, both man and beast thought about the woman.
Wyatt called her Miz. Hank Wyatt was of interest. On one occasion Wyatt’s scent had carried the distinct aroma of wolf. It was a starting point.
Night sounds surrounded the rented cabin and the jaguar’s tension eased. After the man stashed clothes in hidden spots outdoors, he went inside and shed the ones he wore, then returned naked to the porch. The big cat shifted quickly without any of the muscle-rending contortions of many of his kind. He stretched and took control, ready to hunt.
With his teeth, the jaguar grasped the rope his man had tied to the knob. He pulled the door shut before leaping from the porch to the roof and then into the tall willow tree above the building. From there, he traveled across the leafy canopy into the night.
His man had been sent here to find wolves, or more to the point, werewolves. Shifters. It was his job to find the den if such existed and report back to his handler. Nothing more. If it was true, if the sightings of wolves in this state turned out to be men-beasts running under the full moon, then someone else would make contact.
The jaguar would rather have killed them. The wolves were no more than predators in the territory he’d claimed for the moment. His will grew ever stronger and fought with the man’s. He flexed his claws, anticipating the day he would rule.
The cat traveled above the rest of the world, leaping from
As she pushed her bike through the narrow opening they cleared, she heard one man say, “Donnie’ll be a gibbering idiot even if he pulls through.”
Not content with just insults, Eldon Brown lobbed a chunk of coal, missing her shoulder by an inch as he hissed, “Witch.”
On the other side of the mountain of coal, she remounted and drove toward home. Because Miz was intoxicated on filth and leftover power, her speed was slower around the curves than usual. She had to navigate through another line of cars filled with people heading to the city for the night. Cell phones were deader than Job’s ass up here. Stalled travelers tried to flag her down to find out if they should turn back and go home or if help had arrived on the other side.
Miz ignored the questions all the way to Bitter Creek Holler, veering on to the narrow unpaved road. It was little more than a beaten path wide enough for a small car. When she was alone and out of sight, she stopped, dismounted and vomited until her throat was raw.
* * * * *
The cat had been lazily interested in the scene below. His man had too. Neither had held out much hope for the guy covered in coal. Both had come to attention when the woman appeared. The man appreciated a fine ass when he saw it and focused. The jaguar admired her lithe movements and open aggression. Both grunted approval when she elbowed her way through the men to crouch over the body. She was strong and sleek.
He’d wanted to follow her when she’d navigated through the barrier and started down the other side. But his man was tied to the vehicle he’d left among others like it. Reluctantly he let his other being tuck him deeper inside as they returned to the rented SUV and climbed in. Still more beast than man, he fitted sunglasses over eyes irritated and gritty from his recent change.
The cat loved the trees, the rocks, the water—pretty much everything about this place. The man slapped another mosquito away and disagreed. Of all the areas in the world he could have been sent, West by God Virginia was the last place on earth he’d have chosen.
Grimly the man drove to the cabin where he stayed and pushed the beast deep while he prepared to fight off another battalion of bugs that would attack at dusk. The jaguar stretched and yawned. It didn’t matter. As soon as it was dark, he’d prowl and leave the insects to suck on someone else. Meanwhile, both man and beast thought about the woman.
Wyatt called her Miz. Hank Wyatt was of interest. On one occasion Wyatt’s scent had carried the distinct aroma of wolf. It was a starting point.
Night sounds surrounded the rented cabin and the jaguar’s tension eased. After the man stashed clothes in hidden spots outdoors, he went inside and shed the ones he wore, then returned naked to the porch. The big cat shifted quickly without any of the muscle-rending contortions of many of his kind. He stretched and took control, ready to hunt.
With his teeth, the jaguar grasped the rope his man had tied to the knob. He pulled the door shut before leaping from the porch to the roof and then into the tall willow tree above the building. From there, he traveled across the leafy canopy into the night.
His man had been sent here to find wolves, or more to the point, werewolves. Shifters. It was his job to find the den if such existed and report back to his handler. Nothing more. If it was true, if the sightings of wolves in this state turned out to be men-beasts running under the full moon, then someone else would make contact.
The jaguar would rather have killed them. The wolves were no more than predators in the territory he’d claimed for the moment. His will grew ever stronger and fought with the man’s. He flexed his claws, anticipating the day he would rule.
The cat traveled above the rest of the world, leaping from
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