Big Game

Jonathan



The mid-size conference room in the basement, the one that magically transformed into a forest under Vivian's illusion in January, doesn't seem large enough to hold all the high-tempered Weres. As I scan from one enraged face to the next, I'm sure of it. The room is stifling, and I tamp down the urge to scream shut the fuck up.



Romeo and Elsa sit together at one end of the table and the rest of their pack is squeezes around, some seated, others standing. Asa takes a position behind me, unobtrusively holding up the wall in one corner. Eric and Pat flank me in chairs at the table.



Damn, what a struggle getting all the wolves changed back to human form with the scent of blood riding the air-then cleaned up, and fed-but we did it.



Unfortunately, two more guests suffered flesh wounds before returning to the inn. Gunfire can be heard for several miles, but not everyone may be in earshot when the resort is fifteen square miles in its entirety. No one scented anything but wild game and hunter's musk used to mimic the native animals.



Two males resting in the next room said they never heard a shot, so silencers must have been used. The doctor cleaned their shallow flesh wounds and treated the injuries like silver infections, just to be safe. Dr. Cook left afterward to rest in one of the upstairs rooms normally reserved for guests. Considering the two new patients, we need her here more than at the employee apartments a few miles away.



One glance at Romeo and Elsa tells me the couple feels as I do-like it's a struggle to maintain a steady veneer among the heated voices and fear. I take a deep breath preparing for what I've dreaded doing for the last five minutes: taking control. Right now, more than ever, I wish that smart-mouthed redhead were here, so I could smugly sit back and silently second guess her instead of being in the line of fire.



Whoever relishes a leadership spot in hard times has clearly never had to do it. No matter what choice you make, everyone has to help for the plan to come together, and credit is freely shared. But even the smallest error or miscalculation could send the best ideas crashing, and make no mistake-the leader will get all the blame.



I stand, pushing away from the table, drawing Eric and Pat's attention, along with everyone else's. My voice booms across the confined space, carrying the full weight of my alpha strength in it. "The time to blame who could have lead these hunters to us is past." I look around the table, meeting each wolf in the eye, a brief challenge in my gaze.



"Let's discuss what we have and move forward on what to do. We have water and food stores to last us for weeks. The electric to the inn is secure-but we have no standard outside communication. The planes will take days to fix and the roads are impossible to traverse, even in a jeep, for the next few weeks."



Naomi sits to my left, between Eric and Elsa, with Katrina and Ruby standing behind her. They women have been wolves for a while and aren't likely to panic, but yesterday and today have put a strain on even the calmest of natures. Spike sits next to Pat and stares at the center of the table, unwilling to meet my gaze. "An unknown number of supernatural hunters are out there trying to kill werewolves."



Ruby glares at one of the married women standing behind Spike and opens her luscious red lips to spew her adulterous accusations, again. I raise my hand to cut her off.



"How they got here and how they know about us isn't the problem." I stare down the pretty Latina woman. "Let it go, Ruby." She looks away, angry but silent. "What we plan on doing about these hunters and how to solve this current mess is."



I sincerely doubt a scorned lover would track down someone to settle a score by killing them and their werewolf brethren. I'm thinking more like a family member who was bitten or killed by a rogue wolf, but pointing that out to Ruby is liable to set off the hotheaded woman.



Asa clears his throat, reminding me to share what he found in the tunnels. Vivian had some late-model satellite phones in one of the old bunker type rooms. "We do have some good news. Asa uncovered four satellite phones and they're charging now. They should be operable in an hour or so-but it begs the question, who should we call? Who could get here in time to help us?" I glance at Asa, and not for the first time in my life, I've wish the Were society were more ordered and had some type of governing body like the vamps-or at least a hotline, for crying out loud. Not something like the vampires' creepy Tribunal, but anything would be good.



"Romeo, you and I talked about this long ago. Werewolves have lived like the wild, wild, west for centuries. Now, it could be the end of us if supernatural hunters-who are well organized and have technology behind them-decide to go after us. I know this isn't the time to debate on how to fix it, but this current situation highlights what I've always said-we need a way to connect. There is always safety in numbers."



Across the room Romeo nods and takes Elsa's hand. He has two wounded wolves and a fatality in less than twenty-four hours. That's a lot for any alpha sworn to protect his pack to take.



I sit and feel the tension level in the room go down little by little. "So the main question is-do we catch them and find out what is going on or kill them?" The energy surges again as a cacophony of heated voices rises around the table.



We debate the situation for over an hour and decide to break for the night, agreeing to talk again in the morning. The wives of the injured males hustle out to be with their spouses in the nearby basement rooms. The rest of the pack trails upstairs to sleep in the guestrooms on the upper levels. Eric and Pat ask to go back to their cabin via the tunnels, but Asa doesn't think it's a good idea to have any of us split up. I agree, now is not the time to have those two where I can't see them.



Asa leads the pair to his two-room basement suite, ribbing them by saying he has a blanket they can curl up with on the floor. They could take a room upstairs too, but I think they're a bit unhinged by the day's events and don't care either way. Asa's on watch tonight and I decide to escape into the owners' apartment.



Several times today I've reached hard for Vivian in my mind, only to feel a slight tinge of awareness that quickly snuffs out. If we don't get a call out via one of the satellite phones soon, Rafe will activate one of the back-up protocols.



How could the simple suggestion of a summer of big-game hunting go wrong so fast? Paranormal hunters on my first time in charge-could I have worse fucking luck? An exhausted sigh leaves me as I trudge up the stairs, secretly looking forward to wrapping myself up in Vivian's favorite blanket and sleeping on their couch. Maybe I'll turn on one of Rafe's boring science shows, so I can pretend to argue with him about what a pompous jerk the English narrator is.



My inner musings come to a screeching halt when I sense someone in the couple's kitchen. More than likely one of Romeo's pack has hung back to chat. After the grueling shout fest downstairs, I really don't think I can handle any small talk.



The soft clearing of a throat draws my eye to a lean figure standing by the sink. Long, glossy mahogany hair frames a heart-shaped face. Two light brown eyes, like warm caramel toffee, stare back at me. A hesitant look crosses the delicate features of the unknown woman, and my gut reaction is shock.



My nose tells me this creature is Spike, but the trim athletic body and high, firm breasts scream woman. She's dressed in the same clothes Spike wore downstairs, but they hang loose on her smaller frame. Is this some kind of sick joke? Could he have a twin sister? Yeah, sure-and she dresses in big clothes to look like him?



Adrenaline courses through my system as I stride forward and grab the intruder by the upper arms. "Who the fuck-no wait-what the fuck are you?"



"Chill, Jon. I'm not going to hurt you."



Considering it's me who has her biceps in a death grip, it seems like an odd thing for her to say. I give her a little shake, my anger getting the best of me. "What the hell is going on?"



Instead of breaking free of my hold, she steps closer and lays her hands on my chest. She's tall, almost five eight, and close to my eye level. "It's me, Jon. Spike. I'm a shifter, not a werewolf. Spike is just a shape I wear to stay safe. Other werewolves tend to ignore guys more than a pretty woman in their midst."



She tilts her head, like she's leaning in to kiss me and for a moment our breath mingles in the air between us. Then I smell the sweet scent of the mints Spike offered me after dinner.



I let go of her arms like I've been scalded and take a step back. "Whoa. Whoa. Just one damn minute here." I run a hand through my hair and pace the length of the kitchen, turning back in three strides to face the man/woman thing. "I don't understand. Are you telling me you're not a guy or you're not a werewolf?"



Her unique scent makes more sense, but surely, I couldn't have been the only one who's noticed it.



The woman looks at me with a sad little smile on her face, and drops her glance to the floor. "Both. I'm a shifter. I can take on any form I choose. I run with werewolves because it's safer than being alone."



I stop dead in the middle of the floor, my hip leaning against a chair in the kitchen and stare at the creature before me. "How can I tell that you're actually a woman and not a guy shifting to be a woman?"



She looks up at me, the pain in her eyes unmistakable. "And if that were true-what would it mean? That being with me would make a guy gay?"



I can't deny the attraction I've felt for her since the instant we met. Understanding she's a shifter certainly explains the cross pheromones and the desire bubbling below the surface whenever Spike was nearby.



"Attraction at a gut level isn't hinged on a person's gender, you jackass," she says with a stiffening of her spine. "Sometimes it just is and you don't need to question it to death." She whips away and storms out of the kitchen, heading into the living room toward the hall that leads to the entrance into the inn.



"No, wait!" I hurry after her. When I grab her arm, she turns to face me. "Please, don't go. You're right. I am acting like a jackass."



Her shoulders relax and I let go of her arm, trailing my hand down to rest in hers. "You have to admit that your announcement would throw anyone for a loop. Right?"



She nods and looks away, but not before I catch the sheen of moisture building in her eyes.



I tug her toward to the couch in the unlit living room, still unsure of where I want this to go but unable to deny I'm intrigued to learn more. "Can I ask you a few questions? You're the only shifter I've ever met."



"And likely the only one." We settle on the couch with a seat cushion between us.



"Really, why?"



"I'm the last in my line. My folks died when I was a teenager and my brother was killed a year later." Sadness crosses her face. I can only imagine the pain she's had to deal with having no one to turn to, not even a pack. No wonder she thought posing with a bunch of werewolves would be safer.



"I'm sorry," I say, feeling like my words are totally inadequate and I must sound like an idiot to even offer them.



She raises her eyes to mine and I see her earnestness and acceptance over the old pain. "You didn't kill them, it wasn't your fault."



"How did they die?"



"My folks died in a car crash." She looks off at the wall, no bitterness in her tone. "So simple, right? Turns out decapitation by a tractor trailer gets you no matter how supernatural you might be."



My heart seizes in my chest at the thought of losing both parents in such a way. Sure, it happens, but it never seems to happen to anyone you know. Of course, getting attacked by a werewolf on the way back to your dorm isn't normal either. We all suffer hardships in our lives-many take us from our families. Some tragedies appear more permanent and immediate than others.



"And your brother?" I reach for her hand across the cushion. I can't believe I'm sitting here having a heart-to-heart with someone I thought was a dude an hour ago. A dude who chomped at my ass after I came. Holy crap. That puts an entirely new awkward spin on things.



"He was killed in a robbery. Shot by the store owner. Can't say my brother made the best choices in life, but at sixteen, he tried his best to support us on the streets of Los Angeles."



Damn, she's sitting here telling me how her family died and I'm thinking about Naomi saying Spike went down on her once... or was it twice? This line of thought is not helping me be a kind and sensitive guy.



"Life sucks." Holy shit, did I just reduce her pain to some stupid platitude you read on a t-shirt? Panic flares in my chest as my eyes widen over my choice of words. "Um... I mean..."



She squeezes my hand. "It's okay, Jon. It happened over a decade ago, and I wasn't telling you to get sympathy." Her brow waggles. "Unless, of course, sympathy will get you out of your pants. Then I'm cool with using it."



Whoa. She wants to get me out of my pants? Wonder if she plans on going down on me like she did the hot Naomi. Mayday! Mayday! These thoughts are totally going to get me screwed. And not literally, either, which would be more fun.



"Umm..." I stutter. Yeah, that's suave. Idiot.



She laughs, tilting her head back and releasing a deep belly laugh. "Oh man, you should see your face. Yes, dude. I like you. And I would like to get you out of your pants. But, I'm okay if you don't feel the same."



A warmth spills through me, leaving me speechless. Thoughts of Vivian don't cloud my mind. Images of seducing her haven't plagued me in weeks. I no longer want to challenge Rafe when he comes out of their bedroom reeking of making love to her.



To say I'm in a unique place wouldn't even begin to cover it. I didn't feel this pull with Naomi, nor the last time Diane made me a love charm. Yeah, we went at it like fools for a few hours, but honestly that was more of a physical release than any type of emotional connection.



"I feel something, Sp- hey, what is your real name?"



She smiles and settles back on the couch, dropping her head back and snuggling into the deep cushion. "Spike was what I nick-named boy's 'parts' when I was growing up. Think about it...those jutting spikes of flesh. I couldn't resist."



She's positively adorable with those long eyelashes batting at me... what did she just say? Spikes of flesh? I smile in return. "Yeah, that makes sense. Guy's dicks are like spikes."



She busts out laughing. Crap, did I say that stupid shit out loud? Man, you'd think I'd never been with a girl before. Then again, after I left Romeo's pack at the age of twenty-one and hooked up with Vivian six months later, I really hadn't had a chance to just relax around someone in a normal situation in a long time.



I mirror her pose and hunker down into the soft confines of the couch, happy for this stolen moment of shared intimacy, even if I am sounding like an ass at times. "Hey, back on track. So, what is your name?"



She leans over, sliding onto the middle cushion to broach the distance between us. "My name is Candy."



"Mmmm?" I'm lost in her eyes, staring into the caramel depths. I wonder if she tastes like candy, too.



"Why don't you find out?" She presses her lips softly to mine.



I don't have time to contemplate that I must have muttered my ramblings out loud before heat races through my veins and lights a fire deep in my gut. Her soft lips mold to mine. After a few slow heartbeats, her tiny, pointed tongue pokes between my lips, diving into my mouth with abandon.



With a low moan I open and cup her head in my hands, pulling her across the couch to spill onto my lap. The spicy, sweet taste of the peppermint she ate floods my senses and fills my brain with clarity. I find that I really don't care if she is a he. Or if he is a she.



As my cock starts to grow in my pants and my mind is curiously free of all distractions, there is one thing am I certain of-this is a puzzle I'm going to enjoy solving.