is not an option.” He swung around giving the room a once over. “Too many people.”
“Zane, some of these locals are pretty tough. Why not get some help?” I couldn’t fathom why he was so hung up on doing this alone.
Before I could comment further, he stalked from the bar, ignoring my calls for him to wait.
Men! I decided to do the one thing I could — eavesdrop.
Seeing the check had been paid, I grabbed my purse and hurried to the entrance. There were benches hugging the lobby walls and the area was deserted. Away from the crowded bar, I could pay better attention to what was happening outside.
Who sent you? Zane demanded.
Don’t play coy, Marshall. The Indians are on to you. They don’t like our kind.
Your kind is the problem! Zane growled, sounding more feral than human.
That’s right. I forgot; you’re one of those high and mighty purebreds. In their eyes we’re all the same.
The talking stopped and fighting started.
In my vision, I heard a series of vicious dog-like snarls and an ear-shattering roar, followed by what sounded like bones snapping.
Too afraid to do nothing, I charged for the door, forgetting my aversion to dogs and danger.
***
Chapter 7
The ferocious snarls and a few whimpers were coming from the wooded area off to the bar’s right side.
I dodged between vehicles, searching for what I knew were four men in a barbaric death match.
An overpowering need to protect Zane increased with every step.
My lone weapon, from Bob, of course, was a never-before-used canister of mace. Until this moment, I’d never had reason to wield it. With my hands shaking, I held it in front of me like a too-heavy sword. I slunk into the woods, ready to fire into an attacker’s eyes given the chance.
What I saw in a small clearing rocked my understanding of reality as I’d known it.
Two men lay twisted and bloody on the ground.
Intestines spilled from one man’s torn abdomen, darkening the ground with a foul, clumpy fluid. A third struggled to his feet, aiming a gun at what appeared to be a humungous black bear standing at least seven feet tall on two hind legs.
It was not a bear.
The creature looked like a wolf hybrid from some horror movie with topnotch special effects. Its muzzle, longer than an average wolf’s, rippled, and its lips curled back, revealing long spiked fangs, still covered with its victim’s juices. Blood poured from a jagged gash on its massive shoulder.
I didn’t see Zane anywhere.
The strange man and monster circled each other like two wrestlers in a ring.
The man was built like Zane, with cropped yellow hair. He carried himself with confidence even while facing the lethal beast. It was easy to see without the gushing wound, the wolf-thing would have already disarmed and destroyed its human adversary, regardless of the man’s courageous demeanor.
“Back down! I don’t want to do this!” the man yelled, shaking the pistol.
The wolf-creature appeared to drop lower in what I assumed was a posture of belated surrender. The man seemed to agree with my assessment and lowered his weapon. A relieved sigh escaped through my clenched teeth.
Any relief was short-lived.
The wolf, moving swifter than anything I’d ever seen, ripped into his final opponent’s throat, tearing the flesh open.
Shrieking, the blond man crumpled to the ground, his blood staining the grass.
His head tumbled from his slumped shoulders, rolling to rest just an inch from my toes.
My own screams sliced through the darkness, silencing the remaining night sounds. I knew the music in the bar was too loud. No one could hear me. Unless maybe an exiting or entering customer happened upon me, I was alone with the murderous wolf creature.
What could a mere man do to help anyway? He’d end up slaughtered like the others.
The beast at last dropped to all fours, giving it a more wolf-like appearance. Its glowing eyes stared with longing in my direction. Was it going to eat me? Kill me?
Instead, a mournful howl erupted from its cavernous mouth before it lunged into the deeper foliage.
Later, back home, I sat slumped in my favorite L-Z-Boy recliner, feet up. Every few minutes I’d shake all over. And in a few short hours, I’d become a shell of my normal cheery self.
Disgusted for not calling the police sooner, I reached for the phone then pulled back.
What would I say? How could I explain the evening’s events? I had the FBI agent’s card, but couldn’t bring myself to look for it.