Love To the Rescue Read online

  ‘Yippie-kai-yay,’ as they say in these parts. Dugger grinned from dingo ear to dingo ear.

  Suddenly sensing the presence of Moon-Moon’s camera surveillanceâ��set up to catch St. Nick at workâ��Dugger figured he’d give a right good show for the local Taltube afficionados. Yeah, the ‘hunt a werewolf’ posse wasn’t slashing at him quite yet.

  Given their running footsteps, the yells of concern, the drongos were dodging between autos, and still a few minutes away. Righto, piss for hire! Those ales he’d shared with Dante were about to be served up again.

  Half-unconscious, Sluggo-brain writhed like a hooked fish out of water. Dugger hopped off his back. Raising his back leg high, he let the yellow river flow. Flow fast, given his nose told him the ‘pizza out the pores’ pack was about to make a right serious grab for his tail.

  ‘Marinatin’ you in the finest ale at the Pleasure Club.’ Dugger smirked, then dashed for the nearest set of legs.

  ‘Dingo sport for piss and grins. Keep the cameras rolling, mate.’ As if he hunted a hare, Dugger snatched hold of the raggedy bottom of the ape’s jeans. Barely breaking stride, he jerked, then let momentum take its course. Crash-boom-bang, the bugger slammed against the side of the van.

  Sighting the flash of a silver blade, and another pair of jogging legs, Dugger shot beneath a monster, chromed-out pickup. Scooting fast, he clamped his jaws on the grimy, fake rubber of the ape’s tennie, and gave a sharp tug.

  A scream followed before the thwack-thump-bang of a human body against unforgiving metal. “Fuck! Over here,” his hapless victim shouted.

  “What the hell are you kids doing?” a guttural, parental voice demanded. A wolf shifter voice. Deciding it was Hoover, the super-nose bloke, Dugger froze, listening.

  “Someone better start explaining or I’m calling the police,” Hoover boomed. “I guarantee you Officer Friendly won’t be too friendly.”

  “There’s a rabid dog attacking us,” one of the blighters called out.

  “Yeah, yeah rabid… he’s foaming at the mouth, and all. We were trying to save…”

  “Stuff it,” Hoover growled. “Where is this rabid dog?”

  Moments ticked by as if an Agatha Christie murder scene unfolded. “I got the cell phone,” Hoover threatened, “and I’m about to punch in 9-1-1.”

  “Over here,” the hapless victim meekly spoke up. “Think he’s hiding under the truck.”

  Figuring his fun and dingo games were over, Dugger peeked out to make certain a knife blade wasn’t waiting for his tan, furry hide. Seeing a clear field and not scenting any immediate danger, he popped out from beneath the pickup.

  Dugger gave himself a proper shake, then trotted toward Hoover. He added an ‘I got you blokes’ spring to his step.

  “Watch out!” one of the wet-behind-the-ears werewolf hunters shouted. “Looks like he’s gonna attack you.”

  Tame as a right castrated poodle, Dugger approached and sat. He gave Hoover a big cheeky grin.

  After a wink, Hoover scowled formidably at the ‘we’re gonna save the world from monsters’ gang. “I sure don’t see any foam. He ain’t attacking me.” Hoover paused for dramatic affect, one brow reaching for the night sky. Beneath the harsh neon lights, his large mug looked like a cranky Tazzie Devil in human form.

  “What did you slime buckets do to this dog? Tell you what. You got five minutes to clean up your act, and get out of my sight. Any more problems, and I’ll have the cherry tops rolling in here.”

  “Why don’t you try patting his head, see if your hand is still attached,” the slurred voice of Hulk-Sluggo interrupted.

  “Need an ambulance, man?” one of the gang asked.

  “Save you the trouble. I’ll call an ambulance if it’ll get you troublemakers outta here,” Hoover snarled. “Come here, doggie,” he gently called, then bent toward Dugger.

  Sweet as American apple pie, and all that, Dugger padded close to Hoover. When the big wolf patted his head, Dugger smiled like he’d found his last best buddy.

  “You’ll be sorry,” Mary Jane-smoker began.

  “Good onya,” Hoover whispered before straightening. “No, it’s you who’s gonna be sorrier than a skunk-sprayed idjit. When the local humane society gets a hold of this story… and they will. We got cameras for the protection of our patrons…got the message?”

  “We got the message. Let’s get outta here,” Hulk-Sluggo rallied his troops.

  “Trouble in River City?” Hoover asked, once their steps faded away.

  Chapter Eight:

  The Great Escape

  By Pat Cunningham

  “I have to use the bathroom,” Ewan said.

  “Come on, son,” the hunter scoffed. “That’s the oldest trick in the book. How stupid do you think I am?”

  In percentage points? Ewan thought. Aloud, he said, “Not dumb enough to fall for that, and we both know it. That doesn’t change the fact I’m seconds away from turning this here mattress into my own personal newspaper. You let me dump my load, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Including,” he added, with a jerk of his chin toward the grainy photo Agent Mulder had left on the nightstand, “what those beasties are and who made ‘em.”

  Cochrane flicked a disinterested glance at the photo. His full attention stayed on Ewan. Chaos bite his prick. The hunter wasn’t after answers, like the rest of the Scooby Crew. He was out for blood. If he ran across Hancock’s monster hybrids he’d shoot them, and every other shifter he happened on. Ewan wouldn’t miss the mutants, but he had good friends in the Peak.

  He looked toward Velma and added, “C’mon. You seem like an honorable sort. Would you really make me humiliate myself in front of a lady?”

  The hunter rolled his eyes. “You do know how to pile it on.” He gestured to Silent Sam. The man left his post by the door and approached the bed. He drew a knife big enough to gut a rhino with. Ewan tried not to flinch while Silent Sam slit his bonds. All the while Cochrane kept his gun trained on Ewan. Velma stood by the window. Her glasses magnified her eyes to dinner-plate dimensions.

  “There any windows in the bathroom?” Cochrane asked. Both Silent Sam and Velma shook their heads. “Okay. You get five minutes. No tricks. Maybe I should blow out a knee, just to play it safe.”

  “That’d make it tough for me to aim. No need to get messy. I won’t do anything tricky. You have my word.”

  “A shifter’s word,” Cochrane said with a sneer, but he let Ewan enter the bathroom and shut the door. “Five minutes!” he barked.

  That sat fine with Ewan. He only needed three.

  As promised, the bathroom had no windows. He could probably throw himself through a window in the main room, and slice himself to tatters in the process. Nope. It would have to be the door.

  He had no weapons; they’d patted him down when they caught him. A shifter’s weapon was their animal form and whatever natural advantages came along with it. Ewan’s human form had only one advantage, and the coyote in him couldn’t wait to use it.

  But first, prep. He stood by the toilet, shut his eyes, and thought about Velma. Her short, soft hair, her big brown eyes. The fun he could have feeling under her t-shirt in a leisurely search for her tits. The loud, barky sounds he could coax out of her. She looked like she might be a biter. Ewan liked biters. He pictured her bony body writhing beneath him while he covered it in love-nips. He reached for the buttons on his shirt.

  “One minute!” Cochrane shouted at the door.

  Ewan threw the door open. “All done,” he announced. “I’m ready to talk. I got nothing to hide.”

  Indeed he did not. He was totally naked. His enormous dick stood stiff at attention, blatantly pointed at the room.

  For one shocked second, all three humans froze. In that second, Ewan shifted.

  Being an Eastern coyote, or coywolf, he lacked a wolf’s full size but shared the jaw muscles that made crunching the bones of big prey such an easy deal. The coyote’s legendary flexibility added on made him
hell on four paws. Best of both worlds, really.

  He dove straight for Cochrane and closed those wolf’s jaws on the wrist of the man’s gun hand. Bones snapped. The hunter howled and dropped his gun. Ewan swung toward the door before he remembered the downside of wolf jaws and wolf paws, especially when confronted with a doorknob. Looked like it would have to be the windows after all.

  No go. The barricade that was Silent Sam blocked his way. He changed direction yet again, and almost got his ears blown off. The bullet cut a notch in the doorjamb.

  Chaos bite it. Cochrane had the gun in his left hand. He must be ambidouchious, or whatever the word was.

  “Keep him away from the windows!” Cochrane barked. “He can’t work the door unless he shifts.”

  No shit. Ewan scurried for cover. Silent Sam tried to tackle him and missed. Ewan leaped onto the bed and off again just as Cochrane fired another round. The pillow went up in a flurry of fiber stuffing. Before Ewan could dodge Velma caught hold of his hind end and threw them both to the floor, with her on top. Normally Ewan enjoyed this kind of play, but with a hunter pointing a gun at him it kind of lost its thrill.

  Ewan’s jaws and Velma’s throat were close enough to say howdy. He had to get her off him fast, and there was only one way.

  He lapped his tongue straight up her face, with an extra-thick swipe over her glasses. “Eeeeyyyeeeewww!” Velma screamed. She threw herself away from him. Ewan scrambled under the bed. The hunter’s third shot clipped hairs off his tail.

  “Move the bed!” Cochrane yelled, presumably at Silent Sam. “We’ve got him trapped!”

  At that moment the door flew open. “Mr. C?” Shaggy the supporter of Free Weed said. “We got problems.”

  Perfect timing. Ewan clawed out from under the bed and charged Shaggy. His near-wolf weight knocked them both into the hallway. Shaggy made a perfect cushion, shielding Ewan from impact.

  Pity he couldn’t be used as a shield, because Freddie, Agent Mulder, and Comic Book Guy were also out in the hall, between him and the exit. They looked a bit frayed around the edges. Freddie stank of canine urine. Suits you , Ewan thought as he hustled in the opposite direction. The bark of Cochrane’s gun and ping of a bullet followed his retreat. Ewan slewed around a corner just ahead of the shot.

  Fortunately the door to the inside stairwell was a push-bar deal, no shifting required. Ewan fled downstairs and burst into the lobby.

  The lobby was crawling with cops, and they’d all heard the gunshot. They bounded up the stairs. Ewan pressed himself against the wall until the wave of uniforms subsided. Those boys upstairs were in for a lick of trouble, sure enough.

  He glanced toward the front desk. Hoover was on, thank Chaos. He had a dingo with himâ��the source of Freddie’s new cologne, to judge by his personal odor. All three shifters nodded acknowledgment to each other.

  Hoover took a careful sniff. “Ewan,” he ID’d him. “Let me guess. Those jokers in room 103?” Ewan barked affirmative. “I had them pegged for trouble the minute they came in. Dante’s already aware. You better scoot.” Ewan barked again and let himself out the fire exit.

  The back lot had cop cars scattered all over, but with no cops in them. Shouts of, “Hands behind your head! Down on the floor!” and a lot of inventive swearing came from the second floor. Ewan flashed a big doggy grin at room 103 and trotted across the lot.

  Then Thor hit him with a strike of lightning.

  At least that’s what it felt like. One minute he was on his way to freedom, the next a blast of painful energy zapped him from out of nowhere. He fell to the tarmac and writhed like a landed bass, with a high howl of absolute agony.

  It lasted only seconds, but felt like forever. Then small but strong hands yanked the Taser’s wires out of his flank, wrestled him off the blacktop and started to drag him toward a vehicle.

  One last quiver of electrical impulses and Ewan lost control. He shifted to human.

  “Oh, poop!” Velma. “You couldn’t stay wolf, could you?” Still semi-swearing, she adjusted her hold to under his armpits and resumed her drag. The vehicle was the Scooby Gang’s van. He’d been so busy patting himself on the back he hadn’t even noticed it, or Velma hiding behind it.

  She struggled his human body into the passenger seat. After strapping him in she climbed behind the wheel. The van coughed to vehicular life and charged out of the lot.

  Ewan blinked dazedly against the unending pulse of neon on the commercial strip’s main drag. His head pounded like a son of a dog, and most muscle control had gone bye-bye. He managed to wet his throat. “We going to your place?”

  “Shut up.” Velma kept her eyes determinedly fixed to the road. “You just took me hostage.”

  Chapter Nine:

  A Little Something for the Ladies

  By Pat Cunningham

  Maureen kept her foot on the van’s gas pedal and her gaze firmly fixed to the dark, twisty road. Her own personal road ran a lot more straightforward. She’d come a long ways on it, made the last big turnoff, and had her final destination in sight. No way would she veer off now.

  The only pothole was the man strapped onto the seat beside her. More specifically, the attractive, and very naked, werewolf who’d had a chance to rip out her throat but hadn’t done it.

  In spite of her resolve, her eyes kept flicking over for a checkup glimpse of her passenger. He still seemed a bit woozy from the Taser. He was still naked, and still disturbingly handsome. His sweaty blond hair clung to his forehead and neck. That massive hard-on he’d stunned them all with back at the motel room had flopped back to pre-attack size. His cock was still pretty impressive. It would probably take both her hands to hold it still while she got her mouth around it â�¦

  She grabbed for the stick shift instead, and crushed her hand around the knob. Easy breaths. In and out. In and out.

  “You okay?” the werewolf asked.

  “I’m fine,” she snapped. Darn it. He had such a sexy voice. She knew vampires had special powers to entice helpless young women, but hadn’t known that extended to werewolves. Maybe they gave off some kind of animal musk that overwhelmed their victims. This one smelled more like singed fur right now, but that might change at any second.

  Why couldn’t he have been a vampire? Maureen hated vampires. They took too much screen time away from the wolves in the movies.

  “Um â�¦ excuse me?”

  “Don’t talk to me,” she ordered him. “I’m trying to drive here.”

  “Okay.” He was silent for all of a second. Then: “I’d slow down, I was you. This road gets really curvy. I don’t want to end up smeared on a tree, and I’m betting you don’t either.”

  “We need distance. The rest of the team will be coming after us.”

  “In what? This is your only transportation, right?”

  “Cochrane has a car, and he doesn’t give up.”

  The wolf considered that. “Drive faster.”

  Maureen sped up, but only on the straight sections. When she came to a curve she slowed to more prudent speeds. Her next eye-flick showed her paranormal passenger had relaxed. He still had that tremendous schweinstuker . Maureen shot her eyes back to the road.

  The werewolf cleared his throat. “Fill me in. Why did I kidnap you, exactly?”

  “Because I’m the woman. Duh.”

  “Sorry, but I’m a much more complex and well-rounded character. I need better motivation than that.”

  “Okay. You’re taking me to the Doctor. He’s going to question me about Cochrane and the team. Then he’s going to experiment on me and turn me into one of his werewolf monsters. Assuming â�¦ ” Maureen licked her lips. “Assuming you don’t bite me in an escape attempt. Then I’ll turn anyway at the next full moon. Either way, I’m doomed.”

  “Wow,” he said. “I had no idea I was such a heinous evil-doer. Wait’ll Dale finds out what a nefarious creature I am.” He looked out the window for several minutes before he looked at her. Maureen made sure to stare str
aight out the windshield. “You know it doesn’t work that way, right?”

  “Of course it does. Werewolf bites victim, victim turns into werewolf. Everybody knows that.”

  “But I’m not a werewolf. I’m a shapeshifter. I could bite you from now until Tuesday and you’d end up just as human as when we started.” His snort sounded amused. “Bet we’d both be really happy, though. Want to give it a shot? Just pull over anywhere along here.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am not. You saw “Twilight”, right? Did it work for those wolves? ‘Course not. They’re wolves because they’re born wolves. Same thing here. But if biting’s your thing, let’s do it. I wasn’t lying about that part, either.”

  “What about those other werewolves? The monsters in the picture. Where did they come from?”

  “Hell if I know. You don’t want them anyway. They’re ugly. C’mon. You got pretty me right here.”

  Don’t look at his dick. Don’t look at his dick. “I want to meet the Doctor.”

  He didn’t respond. Her quick glance caught a sorry frown. “Hate to burst your bubble, sweet thing, but there is no Doctor. That was a lie. I made him up to squeeze a little info out of you yutzes.”

  “I don’t believe you. Somebody created those creatures. Somebody’s been tampering with Talbot’s Peak for years. We did our research. That town’s a strange place.”

  “Can’t argue with you there. We’ve got our share of weirdos, sure enough, but no mad scientists that I’m aware of. We’re all the way we are naturally. Which is pretty scary in itself when you stop to think about it. Even the Mayor did what he did to himself. So you see, Velmaâ��”

  “Maureen. Maureen Starkey.”

  “Ewan Carter. Sorry, Maureen, but nobody in Talbot’s Peak is going to turn you into a werewolf, so you might as well â�¦ “

  She actually heard the click of his jaw when he snapped it shut. She knew it wasn’t possible to smell a brain thinking, but some kind of faint aroma edged into the front seat of the van. Maybe it was that deadly wolf musk she’d been worried about.