goat and
filled stomach. Hot blood. Good hunt. Over fences. Scared away large dog, as big as
Beast. Took stringy old male, not baby goat, so that Jane would not be angry. Carried
old goat back over fence into night. Ate. Afterward, licked blood from whiskers and
face. Rolled over, belly to sky, paws in air. Happy.
Beast is good hunter.
Overhead, a loud bird flapped wings in night, shining lights onto earth. Not an owl.
Owls are good hunters. This bird was stupid hunter, noisy, frightening prey. But big.
Beast liked big. Bird ducked and rose and circled, its heart an engine like Jane’s
bike, Bitsa. Alive but not alive. I remembered helicopter Jane had ridden in. Did
not like helicopter, riding in belly of loud helobird. Liked Learjet, smelling of
leather and vampire.
Beast, sleepy and full of old goat, lay on back and watched helobird. Helobird was
like angel Hayyel, and not like. Hayyel was bright and fast and flew like helobird,
but without humans in his belly. Hayyel had offered Beast freedom. Had offered Beast
new life. Beast had refused. Did not want to leave Jane. Overhead, big helobird flew
away.
Drew in night air. Cool. Clean. Delicate nostril membranes fluttered. Many new smells,
some with value, some without. Unimportant: smell of flowers, spiky plants, hot earth,
small creatures cowering in rocks, small snakes and big snakes.
Rattlers
. Dangerous hunters, stupid hunters. Would strike even at Beast, who was too big for
them to eat.
Foul smells were distant: gasoline, rubber, hot road, oil on road. Men were not many
here. Ridge of land, not far away, looked out over empty-of-man world. On ridge, Beast
could see/smell/hear farfarfar. Beast would walk to ridge, take in new world. Maybe
look for brothers who hunt together. Beast needed new mate. Strong mate would be good.
Strong, smart mate would be better. Even better still, to have two of them.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Man Who Killed Me
I woke with my head on my boots, my body veiled by my hair. A spider perched only
inches away, a big black hairy thing thrown into monster-sized silhouette by a dark
gray dawn. It skittered way, shrinking to palm sized, as I pushed to my hands and
knees and then to my feet. I threw back my hair and studied the situation. The car
I’d been driving when forced off the road, then crashed, then been shot in, was canted
at an angle, the engine silent. I could smell the road nearby, an overlay of exhaust
placing it to my right.
Overhead, a hawk flew, black against the dark sky. It called, greeting the day with
a piercing cry. I was muzzy-headed. And shivering. And hungry. Confused. Yeah. Confused.
But I knew that it was too early for most species of hawk to hunt. Something had disturbed
it.
My clothes were in a pile at my feet, which was weird, because I’d been in the car,
and no way had I made it here before shifting into big-cat. I’d been too close to
death. Beast had forced a shift when I couldn’t, but I didn’t remember anything after
that, which wasn’t normal. Even in the worst of shifts, when I was on the brink of
death and only a shift into another form brought healing, I always, eventually, found
myself inside Beast’s body, along for the ride, just as Beast was along for the ride
when I was in human shape.
I always remembered at least something of my time in fur. I didn’t remember anything
this time. Yet I was alive. I bent and found my panties and bra and pulled them on,
making a face at the dried blood. I pulled on the ruined pants and stuck my fingers
through the hole in the shirt. Two fingers. One hole. Yeah. It had been a big-assed
gun. I found the new scar under my left arm and between my ribs, which corresponded
to the hole in the shirt, and tried to figure what had been hit to make me bleed out
so fast. And then I found the other scar on the right side, a little lower. The bullet
had blown straight through me at an angle,
filled stomach. Hot blood. Good hunt. Over fences. Scared away large dog, as big as
Beast. Took stringy old male, not baby goat, so that Jane would not be angry. Carried
old goat back over fence into night. Ate. Afterward, licked blood from whiskers and
face. Rolled over, belly to sky, paws in air. Happy.
Beast is good hunter.
Overhead, a loud bird flapped wings in night, shining lights onto earth. Not an owl.
Owls are good hunters. This bird was stupid hunter, noisy, frightening prey. But big.
Beast liked big. Bird ducked and rose and circled, its heart an engine like Jane’s
bike, Bitsa. Alive but not alive. I remembered helicopter Jane had ridden in. Did
not like helicopter, riding in belly of loud helobird. Liked Learjet, smelling of
leather and vampire.
Beast, sleepy and full of old goat, lay on back and watched helobird. Helobird was
like angel Hayyel, and not like. Hayyel was bright and fast and flew like helobird,
but without humans in his belly. Hayyel had offered Beast freedom. Had offered Beast
new life. Beast had refused. Did not want to leave Jane. Overhead, big helobird flew
away.
Drew in night air. Cool. Clean. Delicate nostril membranes fluttered. Many new smells,
some with value, some without. Unimportant: smell of flowers, spiky plants, hot earth,
small creatures cowering in rocks, small snakes and big snakes.
Rattlers
. Dangerous hunters, stupid hunters. Would strike even at Beast, who was too big for
them to eat.
Foul smells were distant: gasoline, rubber, hot road, oil on road. Men were not many
here. Ridge of land, not far away, looked out over empty-of-man world. On ridge, Beast
could see/smell/hear farfarfar. Beast would walk to ridge, take in new world. Maybe
look for brothers who hunt together. Beast needed new mate. Strong mate would be good.
Strong, smart mate would be better. Even better still, to have two of them.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Man Who Killed Me
I woke with my head on my boots, my body veiled by my hair. A spider perched only
inches away, a big black hairy thing thrown into monster-sized silhouette by a dark
gray dawn. It skittered way, shrinking to palm sized, as I pushed to my hands and
knees and then to my feet. I threw back my hair and studied the situation. The car
I’d been driving when forced off the road, then crashed, then been shot in, was canted
at an angle, the engine silent. I could smell the road nearby, an overlay of exhaust
placing it to my right.
Overhead, a hawk flew, black against the dark sky. It called, greeting the day with
a piercing cry. I was muzzy-headed. And shivering. And hungry. Confused. Yeah. Confused.
But I knew that it was too early for most species of hawk to hunt. Something had disturbed
it.
My clothes were in a pile at my feet, which was weird, because I’d been in the car,
and no way had I made it here before shifting into big-cat. I’d been too close to
death. Beast had forced a shift when I couldn’t, but I didn’t remember anything after
that, which wasn’t normal. Even in the worst of shifts, when I was on the brink of
death and only a shift into another form brought healing, I always, eventually, found
myself inside Beast’s body, along for the ride, just as Beast was along for the ride
when I was in human shape.
I always remembered at least something of my time in fur. I didn’t remember anything
this time. Yet I was alive. I bent and found my panties and bra and pulled them on,
making a face at the dried blood. I pulled on the ruined pants and stuck my fingers
through the hole in the shirt. Two fingers. One hole. Yeah. It had been a big-assed
gun. I found the new scar under my left arm and between my ribs, which corresponded
to the hole in the shirt, and tried to figure what had been hit to make me bleed out
so fast. And then I found the other scar on the right side, a little lower. The bullet
had blown straight through me at an angle,
Similar Books
