~ Hunter's Arrow ~

by

Lori Libby

One

“Damn bastard,” Hunter whistled through clenched teeth while moving at a dead run. Blood, metallic and pungent assailed his sensitive nose. Not much blood, he thought as he again sniffed the air. Maybe Tice was still okay. “Always impatient.”

Close, just not close enough. With quick agile moves, he stripped off his clothes to prevent them from tearing as his transformation began. Hunter’s muscles loosened, thickened, began to physically change. Pain shot through his adrenaline-driven body. He collapsed to the sidewalk, movement impossible as his body morphed. Muscles shortened. Power compacted to increase strength. Black silver tipped hair pushed through pores of sweat soaked skin. Hunter’s jaw stretched outward. Bones cracked like dry twigs. He howled in agony.

“Damn.” The single word emanated from his mouth a growl, primal and raw. “Why didn’t he wait?”

Hunter’s senses sharpened. Smells wafted toward him: bath water scented with roses, sweat from a couple screwing, and Tice’s blood. Eyes searched the night. The effort wasted for all he could see was the capital building. In the shadows of the marble and granite, adrenaline surged power through his system in a cool quenching flood. Again, bones rent and mended in a painful symphony. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes to wait out the change from a six-foot plus frame to wolf.

Impatience coursed through him as he waited. He would be too late. The stench of blood and death grew stronger. In his gut, Hunter had known Tice’s plan to catch the killer was weak and still he acquiesced. Hunter took the time, the precious few moments that now seemed a mistake, and called in the others from the Northern Pack while Tice snuck out so arrogant and self-assured.

Frustration and rage ripped through him, the transformation too slow this night. He howled a long mournful cry as the scent of death filled his every nerve. Tice lost his life to an unseen enemy. At a full run, Hunter followed his sensitive nose.

The lifeless mound in the middle of the park was a morbid statue to the fate of his friend. Hunter refused to run to Tice to affirm the obvious. Endorphins, sweat and fear mixed together in an evil concoction that belied the closeness of the killer. Hunter searched the night with sharp eyes. Nothing. Twigs snap a hundred yards away and feet pounded the earth. Vibrations traveled to his paws to give direction and speed. Head down, Hunter began to slip in and out of shadows in search of prey.

The natural instincts took over as Hunter settled into the natural cadence of hunting prey. Mindless as the process was for him, he wished for the rest of the pack, his friends, his family. Strength in numbers, power in loyalty, safety as friends watched for dangers one alone may miss. Endowed with the skills of the wolf, he was still human and prone to lapses in judgment. Hunter would answer to the pack for allowing Tice to slip out on his own.

The sound of sneakers on the ground at a dead run filled his ears. The distance between them closed as he ran on four strong legs. The man ran as if the devil himself were behind him. Hunter howled. The man in front of him froze. The scent of terror filled his snout and cheered his soul.

Hunter set his legs and bared his teeth. He studied the older man in front of him. Body odor smacked him in the face and he cursed his sense of smell. The man’s torn jeans and dirty red flannel shirt was far too warm for July, the man looked homeless. Sharp, intelligent blue eyes stared back at him. The man was terrified but no fool.

“Nice doggie. Easy boy.” The man backed away while facing Hunter. “Nice doggie. Big doggie. Good boy.”

Hunter released a low growl. Dark and dangerous, he moved forward. The man pulled out a gun as if that could ward Hunter off. He wanted to tear the man’s throat out. In human form, he is able to control the basic instincts of the animal part of him. As a wolf, those instincts intensified to dangerous levels. He found the urge to rip the man apart barely controllable. Patience. He would bide his time, fight the urge. The man before him held answers he needed. Answers the pack needed about the slayings of others.

“Nice doggie.”

“Nice doggie?” The voice floated in from Hunter’s right and he recognized Terry Keagen instantly. “Asshole, you have no idea what can of worms you opened. Doggie doesn’t even begin to cover what you are about to witness. Hey, Hunter.”

“Got here as fast as we could,” A second voice, Kevin Trace, filled the night “Damn Tice for being so hot headed. Knew he’d end up killing himself.”

Hunter began the transformation back to human form. Painful as the process could be, it fed him rather than sapped energy. He forced himself to relax and the pain lessened. There was a time when shifting had been foreign and scary, but that was years ago before control was achieved. Hunter watched the man who waved the gun around a bit too much for his liking. Hunter’s vocal cords changed enough for words, “Gun.”

“Sorry,” Trace said as he stepped forward to take the gun from the man who suddenly smelled like urine. The gun fell from the man’s hand. With lightening reflexes, Trace caught the firearm before it hit the ground. “Hey, dude, if you can’t hold onto your weapon maybe you should stay out of the game.”

“Tell us who you’re working for,” Keagen stated with a cold hard edge that proved to be the last straw. The man fainted.

“Boss, he stinks.”

“Yes he does. Got my extra clothes? It’s late but not too late that someone could come along and I’m a bashful man.”

“Here.” Keagen tossed a small pack to Hunter who promptly pulled the jeans and sweatshirt on.

“Tice was supposed to wait for all of you to get here,” Hunter replied as he looked back over his shoulder to where the body lay.

“He was young and full of himself. Can’t blame yourself for that.”

“I should have known.”

“We can debrief later. What are we going to do with Mr. Courage here?” Trace asked.

“I’ll give him credit,” Keagen replied as he poked the man with his boot. “He had guts enough to face Tice. Even in human form Tice was a force to be reckoned with.”

“So he is dead?”

“Yes. Checked him myself.”

“Okay let’s take this bastard back. We’ll have to question him there. We’ve been out in the open a bit to long for my liking,” Hunter said as the wails of sirens were heard. “What did I tell you?”

“That’s why you are the boss,” Trace replied with a quick nod of his head.

“Age has its advantages,” Keagen added.

Hunter closed his eyes and drew in a long slow breath. “Easy, there. You want to challenge me? Bring it on. I will whip your young ass.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t have a death wish.”

“See to it that you never forget. I wouldn’t like it but I would take you down.”

“You get no argument from me.” Keagen bent his blond head and stepped back in submission.

Hunter sighed. He hated that who he was necessitated such harsh rebukes. Keagen’s a good man and an even better friend. The beast within each of them, however, demanded both to test and defend the limits of the natural order. Friendly banter could turn to a bitter battle without much provocation. Hunter maintained the balance and stepped on any of his friends who crossed the line even by an inch.

“The sirens, Boss,” Trace called his attention back to the present.

The sirens were too close to allow them to pick up either Tice or the man lying in a heap. “Leave him. With the gun and Tice, the police will arrest him. Probably lock him up for a 72-hour observation in the mental ward anyway. He’ll be spouting off about werewolves in the park.”

“Let’s go,” Keagen replied without looking into Hunter’s eyes.

Hunter smiled. While they always discussed all pack matters together, he was Alpha. None of the younger men tried to make a claim as Alpha, but it would only be a matter of time. As human as they were, instinct of the wolf still made the rules. At thirty-five, Hunter still had a few good years left in him. Years he didn’t want to give up yet.