Creature Comforts Read online

  Creature Comforts

  By

  Buffi BeCraft-Woodall

  © copyright by Buffi BeCraft-Woodall, October 2009

  Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, October 2009

  ISBN 978-1-60394-363-3

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Dedication

  I would like to thank all those who kept me going this last year.

  Lee for the many phone calls to finish the d*** book.

  Debrah S for the unexpected treasure of your friendship in the epic adventure we call life.

  John Randall for listening to my evil plots and half-baked plans at five thirty in the morning.

  Shae: OMGeez! ;-P

  My parents for taking up the slack in the chaos of my single-parent life.

  Jason for the quiet respite from said chaos.

  Pennie for believing in happy endings.

  Index of Terms

  Alpha Canis/Pater Canis - Male leader of a wolven (shapeshifting wolf) pack

  Alpha Matra/Matra Canis - Female leader of a wolven (shapeshifting wolf) pack

  Change - Act of shifting forms from human to animal.

  Beta - Alpha Canis's second in command. Often the pack teacher/caretaker

  Bitten - Became a wolven/werewolf from a wolven/werewolf bite.

  Challenge - Contest or fight for a higher rank in the pack.

  Dragonkind - Dragons.

  Dueling Form - The half wolf/half man (traditional werewolf) form used mainly for fighting.

  Elder - Psychics whose job it is to protect and police the members of a particular psychic community.

  Fairy/Fairykind - Any of the species of elves, dryads, pixies, sprites, brownies, and so on, who are vulnerable to iron.

  Hell Hounds - Stray wolven running together without a territory of their own. Drifter werewolves.

  Hive- A community of pixies.

  Hunter- A psychic whose job it is to hunt supernatural creatures or monsters. They consider themselves above normal human law. All carry the last name Hunter.

  Kit- A baby/child from the cheetah Were group. Werecheetahs are matriarchal. The female claims a territory to raise her young. Her daughters may stay in the same territory offering a loose type of pack structure. Male werecheetahs often strike out on their own shortly after full puberty occurs and they can defend themselves. Male werecheetahs are consistently nomadic and do not settle with one mate.

  Pack - The wolven family unit. The family unit is made up of a male and female alpha leader pair and lesser members in a definite rank hierarchy.

  Packbond- The magical/psychic link that connects every member of a pack to its Alphas and to one another.

  Packhome - The main residence for a wolven pack. Often the Alpha pair’s home is large enough for a large extended family. Packmembers are not required to live with their Alpha’s residence, but many choose to do so.

  Palestine - (pronounced Pal-e-steen) The County Seat for Anderson County, Texas.

  Matebond - The magical/psychic marriage of a wolven or wolven/psychic couple. Only the female of the pair can perform this bonding.

  Metaphysics/metaphysical - Supernatural or magical in nature.

  Normals - Term for normal humans with no supernatural or psychic gifts.

  Null - Less polite term for normal humans with no supernatural or psychic gifts.

  Omega - The lowest ranking in a wolven pack.

  Psychic - A type of magic user who does not need spells to perform their special magic.

  Most psychics wrongly believe that their gifts are well developed mental abilities.

  Psychic Community - A unified group of psychics living in an area. Usually psychic communities are bound together through strong church ties that regulate their lifestyle and rabid anti-supernatural beliefs.

  Supernaturals - Inclusive term for all the magical species, such as fairies, dragons, goblins, shapeshifters, witches, and so on.

  Swarm- A group of warrior class pixies. Swarms both defend existing hives and search for new territory to establish new hives when the old one becomes too crowded.

  Territory - Wolven packs residing in the U.S. define their boundaries by county or the same equivalent.

  Warden - Protector of the Pack. Members of a pack whose job it is to protect and police the members.

  Weres - Crude term used by the wolven (shapeshifting wolves) for all other animal species who can change forms.

  Wereboar - Shapeshifting boar/wild pig

  Werecheetah - Shapeshifting cheetah.

  Werepanther - Shapeshifting panther

  Wereraccoon - Shapeshifting raccoon

  Werewolf - An outlaw shapeshifting wolf. A derogatory term for a shapeshifting wolf.

  Wolven - The proper term for a shapeshifting wolf

  Wolven Council - Managing body of wolven (shapeshifting wolves) who make sure that no pack, individual wolven, or outsider, endangers their species.

  Chapter One

  Chase urged the sexy redhead in his arms closer, reveling in the press of her full breasts against his body. A couple of agile two-steps took them around another, less coordinated couple. Half drunk, the dancers’ enthusiasm far outweighed any real progress around the small dancing area. So different than his eager dance partner who followed his lead in her mouth-watering be-donkey-donk jeans and fresh perfume. Her willing arousal pushed the mingled scent of alcohol and stale cigarettes to the back of his mind. Country music wasn’t his thing, but her body against his, moving to the music and the small hands that just cupped his butt were enough to convert him for the night. Burying his nose in Texas-high teased curls, Chase grinned. He was gonna get lucky tonight.

  The song ended and the red head clung tighter. Her hands tangled in the end of the long dark blond ponytail that hung down the back of his black leather vest. Easing back, he untangled from her grasp and allowed himself to caress the sweet milkiness of one bared arm. Country chic in her sleeveless peek-a-boo top with its teeny red checkerboard and formfitting jeans, she was hot and ripe for the picking.

  “What would you say to some fresh air, Shortcake?” Chase rumbled the question against the sensitive outside of the redhead’s ear. The rasp of his whiskers sent a shiver down her spine. Small goose bumps raised under his hands. The musk of her desire mixed with the strawberry scent of her shampoo steeped in his super sensitive nose. Man-o-man, sex with a hint of his favorite dessert. He shifted, bringing all the important contact points together, letting her feel his interest. No pressure, just a little ‘see what ya do to me, baby’.

  She flipped her hair back over one shoulder and flashed a prize-winning smile back at him. Her pose pressed the nubs of her breasts against him. Chase had to admit, he liked his females sassy. “I’ve been called everything from Red to Carrot Top, cowboy. Never Shortcake.”

  “Darlin’ do I look like a cowboy to you?”

  “Nah. You’re more motorcycle than cowboy.” Running one manicured hand down the front of his tee shirt to the snap holding in his straining leather pants, she boldly cupped him. Every nerve ending from his navel to his knees sat up and sang halleluiahs. Hell, his boys were weeping in anticipation of worshipping at her shrine. The silver studs and buckles on his laced up black boots winked in the mirror ball light from black leather framed her designer stitched boots. Strawberry red to match her bold and bright personality. “Your place or mine?”

  “Yours, Shortcake.” He never brought any of the human females he passed the time with
to Packhome, sweet and luscious as they were. Fragile humans had no place right smack in the middle of a den of shapeshifting wolves. Besides, he shared a room with his bud, Tank who was more than a tad OCD. A woman would only nose around in their stuff, driving his roommate insane with the obsessive-compulsive need to wipe down and put every tiny thing she touched back into place. He liked to joke that they had evolved from pissing in corners to mark their territory, barely. Still true, when her scent would linger, trapping the roommates with the ghost of a stranger until the familiar and comforting pack scents soaked back in. No piece of nookie could be worth that price, strawberry scented shampoo or not.

  Chase tapped her on her cute little nose. “I’ve got to say bye to my friends.”

  “I need to go to the ladies room anyway. I’ll meet you outside,” she winked, flipping the fluffy red mountain of waves over her shoulder. “Then I’m going to rock your world, motorcycle man.” The outline of her heart shaped butt made it hard to turn away as she walked to the back of the bar where the restrooms were located. He was gonna get lucky, but still he wouldn’t slack off on his duties without some heads-up to his packmates. With his thumbs hooked in his belt loops and a cheerful leer, he strolled back to his packmates table and the disaster of a birthday party held there.

  “You are such a dog.” Censure rolled off his little human packsister, Bailey Weis. Her smudged glasses and untamed curls looked as though she and her obnoxiously dressed mate Mark had snuck off for a few minutes alone. Not that he blamed them. The two were still in the gooey-lovey honeymoon stage and happened to be parents to an active four-footed pup with separation anxiety issues. “That kind of girl is only out for one thing.” Bailey shook a motherly finger in Chase’s direction. The entertainment value as the adorably short plump female practiced her burgeoning motherly skills on him tempted him stay for another round. Tempting, but not enough to forfeit Shortcake’s promise to rock his world.

  “And thank God for that one thing.” Rick Weis took a swig of the Corona and sent his brown eyes casting around the bar. “It’s too bad pickings are so slim or I’d be having a little somethin’ somethin’ too.

  Bailey leaned over the table, slapping at her brother-in-law. “Rick Weis, I cannot believe you said that.” Rick had the skin tone and dark features of the local human Latinos. Except that Rick had never been human. Wolven classified themselves by species, not race. You were either a wolf or not a wolf.

  “What can I say? Woof, woof.” Unrepentant, Rick grinned. He followed up with a mock wolf howl. Mark joined him, beating out a tempo on the warped cafeteria-style table. With one or two exceptions that Chase had yet to find, bars in Palestine were unpretentious dives. Dives with interesting cover bands and cheap beer. So, the dive part could be forgiven.

  Bailey readjusted her western hat and leaned into her mate just a bit tipsy. Mark rescued the beer mug full of mystery daiquiri before she swept it from the not so stable table. “You’re all dogs,” Bailey poked a finger in her mate’s arm as she cast him a goofy grin. “But you’re my dog.” Green glow-in-the-dark lizards tracked over his shirt in the tacky fashion sense that was uniquely Mark. Lately, Chase suspected Bailey was aiding and abetting her mate’s clothing choices. Mark’s tackiness had reached a new level since he and Bailey had tied the knot.

  Chase strolled around his packsister to tweak her hat down over her eyes. “Bailey, darlin’. You are cute as all get out when you’re half-plastered. There is no way in hell I’m staying in this noxious sardine can.”

  Across the bar, the redhead waved and slipped out the door.

  “But it’s Tamara’s birthday party!” The sharp scent of Bailey’s anxiety rode over the tobacco and alcohol scented air. “You can’t leave until after the band sings her song. We’re supposed to dance the night away! Party till the cows come home.” She did a little dance in her seat before falling heavily against her mate in a fit of giggles.

  The birthday girl, raised beer mug full of strawberry daiquiri. She grinned wide with a white wolfish smile. Tamara would stay sober, despite the nearly empty pitcher on the table. At times having a supernaturally high metabolism bummed a party. “I’m okay.” Tamara’s blond hair fell around a face that would make many a high fashion model green with envy. That is until those delicate models met the real predator behind Tamara’s lovely exterior. More than one human made the mistake of taking advantage of Tamara’s naturally shy reserve. “You just go and have your fun warden. We’ll see you at the hunt tomorrow night.”

  Feeling protective, Chase brushed a hand over his packsister’s pale highlighted hair. She’d be fine tonight at least, surrounded by family. They all felt her loneliness through the packbond, her need for a mate. And they worried for it. Tamara had come to them years ago, looking for a fresh start after her wolven fiancé jilted her for a mate more financially lucrative for his pack. Her taste in male company hadn’t gotten any better over time. Chase and the other pack males had run off several unsuitable suitors over the years. Human and supernatural males that didn’t appreciate Tamara’s sweet nature. “Yeah.” He told himself to get moving before her blue eyes suckered him into staying and playing big brother. He’d already danced Tamara around the floor three times and warned off a couple of assholes. It was time for someone else to pony up. “Well, don’t let these guys get out of giving you a birthday dance.”

  His oldest bud, Tank, stirred to life, no doubt coming out of a study of human mating customs, or whatever. “There is no need for concern. The objective is, as Bailey put it, to dance the night away.” Tank’s dry cool tone contrasted with his biker appearance. Meticulous braids pulled back into one long ponytail down the back of his black t-shirt, jeans style leather pant, and a pair of monster size fourteen jump boots. Tank could have been reciting tax law. “Bradley, Rick, and myself will keep Tamara occupied until closing. Bailey and Mark supply her with ridiculously named alcoholic beverages.”

  Bradley Starr startled a bit at Tank’s assessment but put his beer down and held out a surly hand to the birthday girl. “I’ll go first,” he bit out with a snarl. The gold gleam of a thick necklace shown at the open collar of his two toned western shirt. Even from across the room, Chase could practically taste the fairy magic that imbued Bradley’s necklace. Or choke chain. It all depended how you looked at it.

  “Why, Bradley. Be careful. Your enthusiasm could sweep a girl right off her feet.” Tamara pulled a face at the offer while shooing Chase out with her hand. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve had better offers to have my teeth scraped.”

  Chase didn’t stay to hear the rest of the squabble. He sauntered to the door, his eyes possessively following the red head as she made her way to him through the lonely yahoos at the bar. With the barest words, she flicked the undesirables away and sashayed on, completely unaware of the territorial beast he kept leashed inside. Shortcake may be his for tonight only, but his kind didn’t share well. An idiot dressed as George Strait followed her.

  “Hey.” Shortcake paused, her full, freshly lipstick-covered lips pouted as she slid past him. “You coming?”

  Chase made eye contact with the idiot as he tagged his little treat and slid an arm around her waist. Smart prey recognized a dangerous predator. The guy faltered, signaling a waitress before heading back to the bar. Giving her his full attention, he finally ushered her out the door, her arousal a heady perfume in his nose. “Not yet, babe. But we’ve got the whole night ahead of us and I plan to make it last.”

  Chapter Two

  India Demos, the self-appointed wolf of the survivors of the Orangeburg, South Carolina pack scrambled precariously with all four feet, trying to find purchase in the loose rock shelf. She had no idea where they were anymore. She didn’t care as long as they escaped the Hunter. The endless running and hiding had taken them from their beautiful rural home with the scents of forest and water. Here the earth turned dry with rock and hardscrabble shrubs with few places to hide. They were too busy trying to survive to hate their surrou
ndings. Scrambling up and over onto the upper ledge, she huffed without pausing to catch her breath. Another shot rang out, the bullet pinging as it ricocheted off the rock. Screw caution, the Hunter was getting closer!

  India barked at her little pack. Hurry up. Move it. She barked again and leaned down to grab Reggie by the scruff to pull the wolf up. He was so light that she hardly exerted any effort to move him. Tail tucked tight against his boney rump, the wolf quivered from exhaustion. He was so thin and weak from his illness, that he was a liability. A normal wolf pack may have left him behind to die. They were wolven. Not animals. Not yet, they weren’t. She’d keep pushing Reggie until he could not be pushed, tugged, or carried to safety.

  She was no Alpha. But, she was the most dominant of them left. Hopefully, Alpha enough to keep them alive. If she failed to shake the Hunter from their tails, Reggie may die yet. Because, the psychic’s version of the Terminator wouldn’t give up until he finished the job of annihilating her pack, or he died. God, her friends. Her father. Hard to accept even now that Gin Demos was dead. The Alpha had been larger than life. India pushed back the sudden wave of grief. There would be time for wallowing later.

  Reggie whimpered. She shoved at him to move. A desperate, last ditch plan flashed through her brain. India barked at Darrell and Gail to keep running, knowing the sharp sound gave their position away. Her three packmembers ran ahead, dodging through the crevices of the rocky terrain, dodging the Hunter’s scattered shots. Not deadly silver, but a lucky shot and enough lead would slow them down. Then he could put silver in their hides at close range without wasting precious ammunition.

  Behind a rock big enough to hide her, India crouched down low. How big did a rock have to be to be called a boulder? Dismissing the random thought, she pressed herself against the ground. It felt wrong using her pack as a decoy, but she was out of ideas. Her black fur would be easier to spot against the unchanging tan terrain than the other three’s variegated brown coats. She waited, every sense straining to find the Hunter’s presence.