Grim Whisper

Three shapeshifter, leopard brothers are caught up in the murder of a college student, but it wasn't them and now the entire Alton, Illinois pack is in danger...and the real killer is still out there

By Kayla R. Howland

 

            Jeryn stared into the pool, a cup of alcohol in his hand. It was untouched, the ice melted. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to drink it. He blacked out at least once a month. That was enough for him. He didn’t know what was wrong with him tonight. He’d already turned down two girls who were so drunk he could smell it in their blood. His brothers wouldn’t have done the same. They were probably off f*****g someone right now; the problem was, were they doing it the old-fashioned way or were they ripping their throats out? They’d moved here for stability, isn’t that what Finley had suggested? But Finley wasn’t God. He couldn’t control every movement his pack made. It was impossible. Besides, Finley didn’t inspire much confidence. He smelled of weakness and pride and for that they all hated him. Maybe they were animals. Jeryn scratched his neck and ran a nervous hand through his dark hair.

            Something wasn’t right tonight. He could feel it somehow, like the vibrations in the air were erratic and alive. He felt like he did before they had to move, like soon his whole world would be torn asunder again. It troubled him fiercely. He dialed Zane’s number. His middle brother was more likely to answer but there was slim hope on a night like this. It rang five times, went to voicemail, and Jeryn snapped it shut. No surprise there. One thing he was sure of, there were others like him near. Over the years he had learned that the others could be sensed, not by smell or sound or any human sense, but by the feeling of the air, like knowing what your twin is thinking: you just know. He leaned forward and continued looking into the pool, no, through the pool. He could feel it strongly now. An aura of fear was seeping through the house down the hill. Then, he heard it, a scream; not a shrill, womanly scream: the scream of a man; the sound a man might make if he were getting a limb grinded off.

            His eyes jumped to the others around the pool; partygoers, mostly drunk. He was testing the situation, trying to decide if any of them had heard it. When none of their expressions changed, he hesitated. If it were his brothers, they would be put to death. They had already made them move once. They had been involved in the case of a missing girl in Kansas City. Neither one admitted killing her, but the pack all held it in the back of their minds that his brothers were deviants. There were no third chances. Finley would issue a course mortelle, a death run. His brothers would be literally chased to death. The pack would leave their bodies to rot in the woods. It was how they treated traitors and the truly wild.  Jeryn glanced at the house and stretched as he stood. It was a very cat-like movement. It made him feel exposed so he slipped back into his human posture and started walking towards the house.

            The Orlens had a nice house. Mr. Orlens was a lawyer or doctor or some such. His wife was a designer for Martha Stewart. The décor and layout of the home was proof enough of that. Beneath the undercurrent of party trash he could see the cleanliness that the home usually possessed. The weekend had not been kind to it. He was wondering how Matt was going to explain a burned hole in the carpet and the obvious stench of vomit wafting through the house. Then again, maybe only he could smell it. He doubted that.

            Suddenly, a different scent caught him. Blood. Death. Not quite rot; whatever this was, it was fresh. A pit of fear coiled in his gut and a chill of curiosity and anxiety rolled through him. He could almost taste the crimson particles in the air, the copper and raw hamburger meat quality of fresh death. There were few people in the house. Maybe they had all been driven out before the killing. As weak as humans were spiritually and physically, they still had the sense to depart from a place they felt insecure and this place reeked of fear. Jeryn turned the corner and the smell grew stronger. It was coming from the living room. An aura of black was surrounding the hall. Jeryn was walking through the dream world. His senses were on overdrive. He felt his body threatening to slip his skin and threw his back against the wall of the hallway. He closed his eyes and clenched his hands into fists. He fought the urge back and opened eyes he wasn’t at all sure were back to his human blue. That’s all he needed, a group of teens and college kids coming across a giant clouded leopard at the scene of a murder or, worse, coming across a mutant cross between forms. He knew what he looked like and it wasn’t easy for most people to accept.

            As he neared the living room, he felt a horrible aura of panic but it wasn’t his own. His leopard was reaching out to another soul, someone else he didn’t recognize. As soon as he recognized the other’s power as that of a shifter, the bridge snapped shut, like tightening a bottle cap to make sure none of the fizz burst out. Jeryn caught his breath. The other had sensed him. He knew it. When the bridge between their minds had been shut it was like a punch in the stomach and the air had left him. The feeling faded then. The mind became a tiny blip on the radar until it vanished entirely.

            He listened a moment as two girls came into the house. One went into the bathroom while the other waited. He needed to see the room if he was going to. He needed to see the body, see if it was one of theirs that had done this. It would likely only be a matter of time until the death aura deteriorated. People would be coming back into the house soon and he didn’t want to be a caught at the crime scene.

            When he entered the living room, all he could see was blood. On the television, the couch, the expensive fireplace; there was so much of it. He opened his mouth and pulled the smell over his taste buds and deep into his lungs. The smell didn’t make any sense. He could smell the fresh body, the blood, another shifter but, under all of it, the smell of old death. Unless someone had been murdered in the Orlens’ family room decades ago, the smell was alien. Considering the Orlens had built the house only three years ago, that seemed unlikely.

            Carefully crossing the room, avoiding blood, he walked around the corner of the white sofa. He couldn’t believe it. It was Matt. Someone had killed Matt. He almost fell to his knees in repulsion. Matt had been his friend for years, ever since he and his brothers had joined the Alton pack. Matt wasn’t like them. He was only human. His body was a testament to how truly human, how fragile, he was. Matt’s limbs were broken as if something powerful had torn them from their sockets; literally crushed his bones under some horrible hand. His body was black and blue as if he’d been beaten beforehand. There were gashes and deep fingernail gouges in his shoulders and neck. The worst was his abdomen. The killing strike hadn’t been death by torture. He was alive when they broke his arms and legs. The kill had been made through the stomach. Matt’s ribcage was torn open like someone had jammed a hand in up to the elbow and pulled out. Whatever had done this was definitely not human.

            A cool breeze alerted him to the floor to ceiling picture window on the other side of the room. It was shattered completely as if something very large had either jumped or been thrown through it. Jeryn bet on jumped. It was a good twenty feet to the ground from the family room floor to the hill below, leading down and away from the house into the darkness; further evidence that what did this wasn’t your average run-of-the-mill serial killer. No human could break that glass or make a landing without breaking something important unless it was a miracle. He doubted miracles were often granted to psychopaths. Then again, it was hard to catch them.

            “Elise?”

            The girl near the bathroom called down the hall. Jeryn gulped. She sounded as if she were getting closer. He thought quickly and crossed the room with his graceful gait. He confronted her before she could reach the family room.

            She started as he rounded the corner, “Oh. Sorry. I thought you were Elise. She said she’d wait outside the bathroom but I guess she went back to the pool.”

             Jeryn recognized her from the community college. He’d gone to the local one for the first year after they’d moved from Kansas City but he couldn’t focus. Their new home was too erratic. It was hard focusing on pack politics and writing essays at the same time, especially when the other shifters regarded human studies as more of a hobby than a necessity.

            Jeryn shook his head, “Don’t go in there. We have to call the police. Something very bad has happened to Matt.”

            She glanced to the family room, “Is he okay? Is he sick?”

             Jeryn held his hands up, “Just trust me. You don’t want to go in there. Go. Call the police. I’ll make sure no one disturbs the scene. Tell them someone has been attacked.”

             The girl paused as he said the word attacked but nodded and began searching for a phone. He didn’t want to say someone had been killed. That would prove he’d been inside the room for some time and already seen Matt’s condition, pronounced him dead, so to speak. Jeryn’s mind raced over the possibilities that had befallen Matt. How had no one heard his torture? Sure, Jeryn had the equivalent of super hearing, and it came in handy quite often, but no one is deaf enough not to hear the sounds of stomach-churning torture. No matter how loud the music, no matter how drunk the guests; Matt had died in agony and not one of his fifty-plus guests had managed to hear it except for him- and he had only heard the final blow; the last sound of Matt Orlens before having his ribcage burst from the inside. It was sickening.

            Jeryn had seen enough of death. His last pack, his leap, had been murdered by Ursus. He was thankful that no brown bears lived in the Alton pack. He wasn’t sure he would trust them if they did. Only six of them survived the massacre. The Ursus wanted their territory and they weren’t interested in sharing or treaties. His two brothers and he had only made it out alive because they had been on a hiking trip in Boulder. Three females had survived. One was too old to have children, one was too traumatized to, and one was only eight at the time. Jeryn guessed the bears were too busy finishing the others to bother killing an old woman, a pregnant one and a little girl. They weren’t soft on the others. They had killed over forty of the clouded and snow leopards. Jeryn’s people were all but extinct. His brothers weren’t the same after that. They hated the world now.  As he thought of the other shifters, he tried to place the identity of the smell in the room. Most likely the scent belonged to the very shifter he’d sensed outside when he’d entered the room. It was a strange smell, strange as the smell of old death, although the shifter smell bothered him more. He felt obligated to know what it had been but nothing was immediately coming to mind.

            The sounds of soft voices were coming down the hall now. Jeryn leaned against the hallway wall again and crossed his arms. He thought about the dark skinned girl who was making the call. Her name was Cathline, he thought. She didn’t look like a Cathline. She looked like a Native American princess; exotic, although Jeryn guessed that his leopard-dom made him slightly more so. As she came down the hall, her eyes were grave, “They’re on their way. They said to make sure no one leaves the party but I think some people left already. They’re not going to be too happy. There’re minors here.”

            Jeryn glanced up at her and didn’t blink, “Cathline?”

            She started at her name. He could tell she was out of it; already starting to go into a semi-shock and she hadn’t even seen the room yet. He hoped she wouldn’t go in. “Yeah?”

            “The police aren’t going to care that much.”

            She glanced again towards the family room doorway, “It’s that bad?”

            Jeryn didn’t blink, “It’s worse.”

            Jeryn felt her fear suddenly and he felt bad then. He shouldn’t have said anything. Let her speculate. She might stay away if she thought it was that bad. Then again, the imagination always compounds fears. She might be thinking about something horrific- Texas Chainsaw worthy- but what was in that room was as bad, if not worse, than anything he wanted to imagine. Matt was one of his best friends. Now he was dead; mutilated at his own party. It was surreal. He must’ve looked lost because Cathline touched his shoulder and pulled him in for a hug. He didn’t feel like hugs right now. He wanted to go into the woods and slip skins, sit by himself and scream in the dark, but he accepted the gesture.

            When the police arrived, Jeryn led them to the family room and waited in the hall. The first officer, a newbie, was red in the face when he left the room. He looked ready to vomit. The second officer to leave the room was better equipped to handle the gore, but he still looked haunted. Jeryn expected Matt’s corpse to haunt his dreams for years to come. The officers would definitely see this in their dreams and maybe they all should. Death should have an impact. The world isn’t made of kittens and violets and chocolate pie.

            The second officer approached Jeryn. He was older, stoutly built with a crew cut and a beer gut. He looked like your average hometown cop. “Did you find him exactly like this?”

            Jeryn nodded, “I walked into the room and saw the blood. I took a few steps into the room and saw his body, then backed out of the room. I saw Cathline and told her to call the police while I kept anyone from coming in.”

            Jeryn tiptoed around the truth. He had to be careful. He didn’t include that he’d heard any screams. No one else had heard them. How would he explain that he was the only one at the entire party who heard Matt’s screams? He also didn’t allude to the killer being anything but human. To do so was walking a slippery path. Speculation about such a thing could jeopardize them all. It would also make him look disreputable, if not crazy, to the officers if he threw out conjecture that Matt Orlens had been torn apart by a werewolf. Instead, he told the truth as much as possible, editing out all the ethereal voodoo that he could.

            Officer Tony sighed, “You shouldn’t have walked into the room when you saw the blood.”

            Jeryn nodded, “He was my friend. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

            Officer Tony lifted a blond eyebrow, “How did you know it was your friend when you walked in? His face is almost unrecognizable. Someone beat him, bad.”

            Jeryn paused and his mind quickly sought a retort to Officer Tony’s question. For a moment, he didn’t really know how he’d known it was Matt. Then he realized: it was the smell. Only Matt wore that kind of cologne and he had smelled it mixed in with all the other scents when he’d walked into the kitchen. You couldn’t give an officer of the law that response though. You’d sound wackadoodle, so he made something up.

            “I recognized his tee shirt. Only Matt had that one that I knew of. And his hair. He always had a red tinge to his hair.”

            Jeryn was thanking the universe that Matt was wearing his lucky loch ness tee. If he’d been wearing a plain white tee his defense wouldn’t make any sense. Any ole’ American boy might be wearing a white tee.

            Tony nodded and wrote down Jeryn’s answer in his tiny notebook, “Ok, son. I want you to stay in the area until we give you the go ahead to leave. We’ll call you in for questioning sometime this week, maybe tomorrow. You can go ahead and go home.”

            Jeryn overheard the younger officer mention that a St. Louis investigation team was coming to collect evidence. He also mentioned that the scene was weird. Jeryn couldn’t argue that. It certainly was. He thanked Officer Tony and headed for the back door. As he entered the kitchen, he thought about Matt’s parents. They would be devastated. They’d most likely move. Their son had been butchered in their family room. Even Martha Stuart can’t renovate enough to get rid of memories. He imagined it would be impossible to enter that room ever again without thinking of your son’s blood covering the walls, the furniture. They were somewhere in Mexico at some sort of resort. That vacation was ruined.

            Jeryn walked out to his car and scented the night air: nothing but the smells of foliage and little animals. The smell made him feel better somewhat. It was comforting. He might go for a run when he got home. He rolled his windows down and flipped open his phone to check his calls. No missed calls. His brothers were still out partying most likely. They loved the club scene, loved the limelight and girls. His brothers: the two players. Either that or they’d also been at Matt’s party and they were getting as far away from it as possible. He thought he’d felt them near while he was sitting by the pool, but he could’ve been mistaken. Maybe he’d been feeling the energy of Matt’s killers. It was something to think about. Jeryn had never been as bold as his brothers. Once, they were like him: quiet, studious, in control. Now…now they were something else.

            Their parents had been killed in the Ursus cleansing. His brothers wanted revenge, terribly, but they simply didn’t have the numbers. Sure, they could go back to Colorado and exact some form of revenge- kill the bear king or whatever- but it wouldn’t matter in the end. There were hundreds of bears and now there were less than a dozen of them. Maybe that’s why they hadn’t left Illinois yet. They knew how folly a plan for revenge would be. Besides, what happened to their pack was nothing intently personal. The bears needed land. The bears had too many people. The bears killed the weaker predators. It wasn’t exactly uncommon in the underworld of the shifters, or in the animal kingdom for that matter. No wonder so many of them had become extinct.

            Jeryn was proud of his heritage. They were descended from the great saber-toothed cats of the ice age. Their elongated canines reflected that lineage. Jeryn and his brothers were also special. Most of the cloudies had yellow-gray coats but Jeryn, Zane, and Grant had melanism, making their coats a spotted black. It was a special trait that was supposed to ensure the bloodline of the leopards but, now, there was no one to pass the bloodline with. They would marry humans, wait until an elusive female cloudy showed up and marry her, or die alone. There was no crossing of species. It was forbidden, lest the children be diabolical little minions that turned out to be wolf-bears or leopard-snakes. It was more of an ethical law. It seemed wrong to have mixed children. Jeryn laughed. The humans called biracial children mixed. He figured they would s**t their pants if they realized there were monkey-lions out there, somewhere. Of course, those types of anomalies were rare- but they did exist. Jeryn had never met one and didn’t think he wanted to. The werewolves called them etrange progeniture, French for strange offspring. The chances of passing along the shifter gene were high if shifters married humans but, once the bloodlines had been crossed, the chance of miscarriage was high and the shifter line would be further diluted; like dye dissolving in water.

            As Jeryn sat in his car it occurred to him that the cloudies he knew might be the last of their kind. They hadn’t heard from any others in so long. Snows and Africans were pretty common now. They’d reached a population peak but cloudies were almost unheard of. That’s why they’d joined the Snows in Colorado. It seemed appropriate to join forces. They were so similar. But for some reason Jeryn and his brothers hadn’t searched for another leopard leap. It just wasn’t an attractive position anymore. Instead, they’d joined the autonomous collective of Midwest shifters. Not only was their pack run by tigers and wolves and lions, it was also home to the second largest wolf pack in the Midwest. Some of the rarer animals had joined in as well: an African rhino, a polar bear, a family of jackals, and several other rarities had become the norm of the Alton pack. Renegades, runaways, the lost and the second best: that was their pack. But Jeryn was proud of them all. They were the only family he knew anymore, save for his ever-missing siblings.

            Save for Matt. Matt was the only human friend he had that knew what he was. Matt had never been afraid, only remotely interested. Jeryn always answered his questions and knew he could be trusted. He was the friend to talk to if you were down in the dumps. Party boy he was, but Matt was truly a good friend. He had an open-mindedness that seldom graced the human psyche. Jeryn leaned back in his car seat and breathed in the hot, humid summer air. He would miss Matt. He missed his family. He missed feeling whole. He didn’t care if the police saw his car still parked on the road. He sat in his hot car and silently cried.

 

            Jeryn’s eyes were burning as he left Matt’s house. Who could’ve killed him? Whoever did this was someone like them. Did he know who did it? No. Impossible. He would’ve recognized the smell. But that didn’t mean they weren’t part of his pack; the pack was huge, made up of different creatures both big and small, carnivores mostly or those strong enough to fight off a carnivore. The smell didn’t make sense. It was rare, whatever it was. He’d smelled tigers, jackals, hyenas; this wasn’t anything he’d ever smelled before. Odd, considering their pack was so diverse. They were almost the most liberal pack he knew of. There was a collective in Arizona that consisted of snakes, birds, horses; they were pretty liberal. He even heard they had a crocodile. What a crocodile would want to do with Arizona was still an enigma to him. But, hey, it’s a free world- sort-of.

            He was extremely tired as he turned onto the highway. A headache was vibrating through his skull, pounding behind his eyes. The change would make the headache dissipate but it was nearly four AM. It would be light in an hour or so. He couldn’t risk being seen, not with a brutal murder less than twenty minutes away. Worse, Zane and Grant weren’t home yet. Phone calls needed to be made. Finley needed to be called and told the bad news. The pack needed to have a meeting. Two missing leopards didn’t look good when the pack started questioning a supernatural murder. It didn’t matter the evidence supporting that it wasn’t just a shifter. A shifter was involved and anyone who wasn’t accounted for would look suspicious. Zane and Grant had tempers. They had less-than-clean histories. They didn’t need further condemnation in the eyes of the pack.

            The pack. It always felt strange to Jeryn that they called themselves a pack. Wolves had packs. Tigers, hyenas, lions, leopards: they had ambushes, bands, prides, leaps. The leopard leap in Colorado had been made of several types of leopards but it was still called a leap. Finley was the one to dub them a pack. Jeryn guessed it was because pack was the most generic. The wolves were the best known in popular culture. It made sense somewhat.

            Jeryn opened the door to the apartment, a three bedroom, one bath, suitable for their small family. It was dark, quiet. It used to amaze him as a child that humans couldn’t see in the dark. It must be terrifying. Of course, he couldn’t see in total blackness but, if there was any sliver of light, he could see. He debated a moment what he should do first. He felt filthy. He smelled like a college party; not a pleasant quality; faint vomit, barbeque, alcohol, sweat. He settled with a shower after he called Finley.

            The lights were nearly blinding in the bathroom as he let the shoddy water heater kick in. After running the water, he passed through the dark living room and into the kitchen. Of course, he couldn’t tell Finley directly that a shapeshifter had murdered Matt. You never knew who might be listening over the line. Instead, he’d have to be tactical about his words. Finley would understand.

            The phone rang and Finley answered on the second, “Hello?”

            Jeryn cleared his throat, “Finley? That you? It’s Jeryn.”

            Finley’s faint, eastern European accent purred through the line, “Ah, panthera. What’s wrong that you’re calling me so early?”

            Jeryn sighed, “Make sure you watch the morning news.”

            Finley made a sound over the phone, a low click in his throat, like he was thinking, “Is it bad?”

            “Bad enough.”

            “Did you know them?”

            Jeryn stared into the darkness of the kitchen, “You’ll know when you watch the news.”

            Finley’s voice lowered an octave. Maybe he was afraid that someone was listening too.

            “Was it one of us?”

            “One of us was an accomplice. I could smell them but, Finley; they weren’t anything I’ve ever sensed before. I felt one outside at the scene. I don’t know what he was.”

            Silence took over on the line a moment. Finley was weighing the immediacy of the situation. It was stressful running a collective pack; so many different opinions. It must be hard, especially when the collective you ran generally saw you as cowardly.

            “Where are your brothers?”

            “It wasn’t them.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Do you think I wouldn’t smell my own brothers? They’re off partying.”

            Finley sounded frustrated, “You need to get them home.”

            “Do you think that’s easy Finley? They don’t listen to me. They don’t listen to anyone.”

            Finley let out a growl, “They need to be controlled. They make our pack look weak.”

             By that, he meant that Zane and Grant made him look weak. Finley was a Siberian tiger, the biggest of the big cats. He was five times stronger than anyone in the pack, save for Neddick, but she was an African rhino- hard to beat that kind of strength. Finley could win a fight with a bear if he wanted, but he was too timid. He was trying to control a pack of carnivores and he couldn’t harden his backbone. It was going to get him killed if he didn’t change. A leader had to be willing to break some eggs to get the job done- Finley was afraid to even touch the egg for fear it happened to crack. That was a problem.

            “Just watch the news, Finley. I’ll see you in the morning. I haven’t slept in over twenty four hours. I need to collect my thoughts.”

            Finley made a sound of agreement, “It’s good you called. I’ll let the others know. This concerns all of us.”

            “It does. For sure. Night, Finley.”

            “Good morning, Jeryn.”

            The phone went dead and he went back to the bathroom. The shower was so hot the walls were sweating. He turned down the heat and undressed. He glanced at himself in the mirror; he was not nearly as muscular as his brothers, a thin man, but still lithe and strong despite the mass. His brown hair was pulled back in a loose bun, blue eyes. They looked hollow. He needed sleep or, perhaps, he needed to have not lost a best friend. That was part of it. A scar ran across his right bicep, the curved tissue of a jagged claw wound. Grant had attacked him once when he’d tried to stop him from leaving the house. The wound had never sealed shut like the others. He could get shot and it wouldn’t leave a scar, not unless it was a pure metal; silver, platinum. Scars like the one on his shoulder were considered cursed scars; wounds inflicted by other supernaturals, infused with magic. If he had been human, he might’ve lost the arm. The scar was a constant reminder that his oldest brother wasn’t trustworthy. Familial ties or not, Grant was not a very decent brother. Grant would defend his brothers against any enemy but his temper was a danger in itself. He was radical, sometimes totally insane. He was turning wild.

            Jeryn let the hot water pound his skin until it was bright red. He slid to the floor and curled into a ball. He held his hand in the air and let his claws slip skin, let their black lengths grow towards the light. His tongue slid over his teeth; the beginning conversion from human canines to feline. He didn’t let the transformation go any further. He held it back; a beast swimming beneath the surface, at his call if he summoned it. It took great concentration to maintain the in-between stages of the change. It was so tempting to just slip skins fully. He closed his eyes and sighed. The change was orgasmic, relieving. It was like shedding your clothes at the end of the day. He felt cleaner when he was a leopard, pure. His human self was like dressing up for the day. It felt good sometimes but mostly it was just uncomfortable. Deep down you knew that it felt better to be naked. He knew it felt better to be leopard.

            He dried himself from the shower and walked to his room. He curled his hands into the sheets and pulled them over his head. Stress finally gave in to sleep. His last thought was of Matt and the hole in his chest; a thought that twisted into dreams of screams and the brush of leaves over naked shoulders, running from something terrible, cloaked in the scent of death.

 

            A knock on his door awoke him. He rolled on his back and sighed, “Yes?”

            “Jeryn? It’s Zane.”

            Jeryn stared at his ceiling, “You’re finally home. Where were you guys last night?”

            “Jeryn, let me in.”

            Jeryn glanced at the door. Why did Zane need to see him so urgently? He crawled down the bed, slid on some jeans, and opened the door. His middle brother stared at him intently, almost fearfully.

            Zane burst into the room, a hurricane of nerves and the smell of fresh earth on his clothes. He looked terrible. Leaves and twigs were scattered in his sandy hair, his coat torn across the shoulder. His boots were crusted with dried mud and Jeryn frowned as he tramped the filth across the pale carpet.

            Zane put his hands on his hips and sighed towards the window, then whirled on Jeryn, “Were you at the party last night?”

            Jeryn stared at him, “Matt’s dead.”

            Zane nodded solemnly, “I know. I’m sorry. I know he was your friend.”

            Jeryn’s stomach lurched, “Our friend. I was the one who found him.”

            His brother’s eyes became glassy, like the mind behind was distant from them, “Have you talked to Finley?”

            “Yeah. I called him when I got home last night. He’s afraid.”

            Zane curled his hands into fists and paced across the room, his head lowered in thought, “Of course he is. He’s Finley. It’s what he does best. Have you seen Grant?”

            Jeryn shrugged, “No? I thought he was with you.”

            Zane stopped cold, “He was. Last night. He was at the party but…I’m not sure where he went. He took off towards the house when we heard a scream.”

            “Matt’s?”

            Zane nodded solemnly, “I tried to follow him but you know Grant. He’s faster than me. When I got back to the house, Grant wasn’t there, the police were coming and I figured it was best I leave.”

            Jeryn let out a stifled breath. His brother had a rap sheet that could brush the floor. He’d been pegged for theft, assault, battery; he wasn’t exactly the crystalline, upstanding citizen one trusted as a witness. If anything, he would be a suspect. Maybe he had underestimated the common sense of his brother. Zane wasn’t particularly moral, but he wasn’t a liar, and he wasn’t an idiot.

            “Why didn’t you trail him?”

            Zane picked a twig from his hair and crushed it between his fingers, “Why do you think I look like s**t? I did. Well, I tried. I picked up Grant’s trail just off the property. There’s an empty house back there, set away from the highway. We had Grant’s truck parked back there so we could, erm, entertain in private. The truck was still there. He must’ve been leopard when he left Matt’s. I followed the trail up past Godfrey but I lost it in a creek. It was weird, like he was trying to lose me.”

            Jeryn listened to his brother as he dressed, sliding a gray tee over his head and sliding on a pair of worn Vans. Apparently, Grant had skirted the suburban woodlands outside of Alton. He’d crossed two highways and several creeks, making his trail as hard to follow as possible. Zane had a hellish time trailing him and he could feel the growl in his brother’s tone as he explained his return trip, grimacing in disgust as he recalled that the police had impounded Grant’s truck and he’d had to walk the rest of the way home. Not only that, his cell phone had also been lost when he’d left the Orlens, probably still laying in a heap of clothes on the edge of their property. With Matt’s murder still fresh and cops swarming the house, it wasn’t logical to go traipsing back into the woods searching.

            “Grant should know better. He’s making us all look bad. Finley called me this morning on the house phone. He’s furious. He’s called a pack meeting tonight before dark. If we can’t get Grant to come, well, you know what that looks like.”

            Jeryn remembered something suddenly, “Did you smell it too then.”

            Zane crossed his arms and the lithe muscle corded slightly. He wasn’t as big as Grant, but the presence was there, the potential. It wasn’t hard to see that a wrestling match with Zane would be a tough call.

            “I smelled…something. Yes. There was definitely something wrong with it all. There was a weird feeling surrounding the house. It made my skin crawl; made you want to pack up and skip town. And I smelled it too, whatever it was; reminded me of rotting paper, or maybe a damp tomb. And there were other shifters there, but that smell wasn’t normal either. I could smell them, like maybe some had paced around the property.”

            “I smelled it too, in Matt’s living room. That’s where…That’s where they killed him. Do you think they were at the party?”

            Zane took this information in as if he hadn’t yet considered it, then shook his head, “No. You said you didn’t smell them before coming into the living room?”

            Jeryn nodded, “Matt’s scream was the first hint I had that something had happened. Otherwise, everything seemed normal. I felt the energy as I came into the kitchen. I think maybe it was… I don’t know, warded. The house smelled like death. When I found Matt, the window was shattered. I think the ward dissipated then. Two girls came into the house. They didn’t seem bothered at all. Whatever killed Matt; it was like a planned drive-by. They must’ve been in and out. They didn’t have much time to act, or to leave. And another thing,” Jeryn put his hands together as if he might crush the feeling out of his skin, “I felt someone outside, another shifter. I felt their fear for a moment. They were desperate, trying to leave. Their mind was a tangle. I felt them and they felt me, then they shut me out. Felt like a punch in the gut; took me a moment to understand it. I think they knew someone was listening in.”

            This new bout of knowledge didn’t seem to strike Zane as unusual. His face kept its calm thoughtfulness. Jeryn thought he noticed a flicker of fear curl through Zane’s mellow expression, but the tremor passed and Zane’s body relaxed.

            “I’m going to call Halsey and Andra. They need to know. I’m sure Finley hasn’t called them.”

            With purpose, Zane disappeared into the hall and shortly after his voice rose from the living room. Jeryn leaned back on his bed and crossed his arms over his stomach, his head hanging off one end of the bed, his feet on the other. He felt cold. The distant call of the wood was rippling under his skin, whispering to his beast who coiled impatiently inside him, just beneath his sternum. The sound of his brother’s voice placated the ethereal creature, bringing him back to reality. The beast could feel Zane’s humming in the next room. It always seemed to quiet when it felt others like itself; calmed by the proximity to a fellow soul. It was easier to control when it felt secure.

            He could hear Zane’s voice lilt, the tone gentle and reassuring. Halsey and Andra were a part of their tiny, diluted faction. They had made the exodus from Colorado, to Kansas City, then to Saint Louis when the bears had stripped them of their home. Andra was nearly seventy. Her daughter, Halsey, was in her early thirties. Together, they had taken in the youngest of the leap to survive the massacre, Lara. She’d been only eight during the takeover. Now, she was twelve, and raring with the audacity of youth. Zane’s voice became a whisper, suddenly, and Jeryn could hear him murmuring in soft tones, almost too soft for even his sensitive ears to pick up. He always spoke to Halsey that way, almost like he felt the gentle woman would shatter if spoken to too strongly. Halsey had lost her own child in Colorado. She had been eight months pregnant. Taking in Lara had lessened the blow, but it was obvious that the events in the mountains had scarred her.

            Almost immediately after Jeryn heard Zane’s voice stop, his brother came back to his bedroom.

            He stared at his little brother, sprawled helplessly on his back, and smiled, “Where you get the inner peace to relax like that, I’ll never know.”

            Jeryn smiled, “I’m not sure I’d call this relaxed. That’s not the word for it. No. Numb, that’s a better word.”

            Zane cocked up a brown eyebrow, “It would be easy for someone to crush your throat from that angle, you know that?”

            Jeryn leaned his head back and stared at his brother, “It’s a good thing I have such a trustworthy brother then, huh?”

            Zane’s mouth turned a small smirk and he sighed almost regretfully, “Yeah, I guess it is. I’m going to hop in the shower. I feel like a public toilet. One of those creeks I crossed was stagnant. I think I have mosquitos growing in my ears.”

            With that last tidbit, his brother silently stalked back into the morning-lit house. Jeryn moaned and closed his eyes. He’d managed only five hours of sleep. Zane had slept less than that. The pack meeting was just before dark near Marquette Park, a heavily wooded campground and property north of Grafton, Illinois. It was one of several meeting places the pack frequented. It was August. The campground would be full but the woods would be deserted after dark.

            Finley would be calling the others together: the advisors of the wolves, the lions, the hyenas, and anyone else noteworthy that might give a damn about a supernatural murder investigation in their backyard. It would be a long night and, with Grant gone, Zane and Jeryn would have to represent the leopards. They would also have to simultaneously negate allegations that Grant was involved until they could truly discover his whereabouts. Jeryn didn’t think Grant would help kill Matt or work with people who would, but he wasn’t sure. His brother was a renegade. They’d seen less and less of him lately and Grant’s history with human interaction was unsteady at best, but straight up being an accomplice to murder? The pack might think him capable but Jeryn had his doubts. A*****e or not, Grant wasn’t evil.

             Grant was a b*****d, and a harsh one at that, but he had always felt strongly protective over his family, his leap. He was the eldest male and had taken on the role of alpha for the past four years. Something big had to have happened to drive him away from that responsibility.

            Jeryn rolled onto his side and stared at the wall; No. If Grant didn’t show up in the next few days, he was dying, dead, or being held prisoner. Jeryn fell back to sleep; his shoulders tense, his jaw set. His mind rolled away to the faint sounds of Zane singing in the shower.

           

            In the car, Jeryn felt the same aloofness he’d felt lying in his bed. He couldn’t concentrate. Zane’s words echoed in his ears and buzzed through his temples before exiting out the other side. An abrupt punch to the shoulder alerted him to the fact that his brother had found himself being ignored.

            “Hey. I need you to be cool tonight. I’m not used to making decisions for us. You have to stay with me.”

            Jeryn gave a cool nod and looked his brother over before continuing to stare out the window, “Where do you think Grant went?”

            Zane gave a thoughtful grunt, “I’m not sure, but wherever he was going, he didn’t want anyone to follow him,” he suddenly hit the dash and let out a ragged breath, “God, I hope he’s not involved with what happened at the Orlens’. I don’t think I could forgive him for that. The last I saw him; he was heading towards the house. I think he might’ve paused to smell the ground near the family room window before he took off, then I followed after. You know, honestly, I think whatever killed Matt went after Grant too. It would explain why he left so abruptly and why he tried to cover his trail.”

            “I didn’t smell him in the house. I don’t think he was involved. I must’ve just missed you when we were calling the police.”

            Jeryn’s eyes flicked to Zane’s and there was a moment of apprehension. His brother was unsure what to make of the murder. The smells, the sounds, the feeling of dread emanating from the house; it was alien. There were other supernaturals out in the world. Jeryn had even seen the darker side of the spectrum: a lithe, beautiful girl that Grant had pegged as a vampire while at a bar in Branson. Apparently she had an appetite for the tourists. She had given off a vibe that had made his beast writhe and recoil within himself. She didn’t feel like the buzz and heat of the shifters. Instead, her aura had felt like the cold slap of nothing as she scanned the menu, waiting for the waiter to return. Zane had always joked that she was waiting to eat the waiter, which was probably the truth. Could the creature at the Orlens’ have been a vampire?

            He voiced as much to Zane and Zane shook his head, “The thing at Matt’s had a certain smell to it. It was strong; you smelled it. The only vampires I’ve ever seen didn’t smell like anything. They just weren’t,” he held his hand palm up to emphasize the weren’t, “Unless it was an ancient, but they’re extremely rare. Heard there was less than ten over a thousand left, but you might be on to something. Whatever it was did smell dead and there aren’t many kinds of creatures I’d imagine smell that way. Shifters smell like earth and musk. Fae smell like cinnamon or lavender; spicy.”

            “So it wasn’t a fairy that killed Matt? That’s a relief.”

            Zane shot him a dirty look at his sarcasm, “I’m just saying. We need to look at all the possibilities. Shifters were involved. We know that. We both smelled them. Who knows what they are. Hybrids, maybe. Fae are out. Demons are out. I didn’t smell Sulphur or smoke. That leaves vampires, witches, necromancers or other.”

            “Other?”

            “Yes, other. Gods, aliens, the creature from the black lagoon, Bigfoot- we can’t justifiably rule anything else out. The magic surrounding that house was dark; unless you’ve suddenly become an expert on black magic, we have to accept that whatever killed Matt could be anything we haven’t already checked off the list.”

            The image of Bigfoot shredding through Matt’s solar plexus flickered through his mind and Jeryn frowned, “Okay, so we don’t know what they are. Why would they kill Matt?”

            Zane lifted a finger off the wheel, “See, that’s what’s really bothering me. Matt was as generic as any human. He made straight A’s, played basketball; minded his own business.  I just don’t get it yet. He could’ve been a random sacrifice, though that seems unlikely. The way he was killed seemed almost vengeful. I’m not sure if they tortured him in or out of the house. As far as I’ve gathered, they tortured him somewhere for some length of time, then deposited him in his living room at his own party and finished him off. Meanwhile, they kept the ward or whatever it was in place over the house to distract the humans there. I don’t know what Matt could’ve done to deserve torture like that. I don’t think almost anything deserves torture like that. We might never know.”

            The thought of never knowing the truth struck a chord in Jeryn’s heart that made it waver. God, he might go insane if Matt’s homicide went cold. The fact would nag him to an early grave.

            “Finley is probably ready to have a heart attack. He’s going to be pissed when he finds out we don’t have Grant.”

            “F**k Finley. If Toller would grow some backbone, nobody would be bold enough to kill off our friends like this; not without bringing on the wrath of the pack. Finley is a Siberian tiger for f**k’s sake. He wouldn’t have any opposition if the others didn’t already know he’s a b***h-made coward. But, since he is, I don’t see things going smoothly for us anytime soon. The guy could shred over half of us if he wanted. He needs to get his priorities in order; either step down or harden up. He makes us all look weak.”

            Jeryn glanced at Zane and saw the fire jumping in his brother’s eyes. He hadn’t realized Zane had been pondering everything so deeply. Maybe Grant wasn’t the brains of the operation after all. Maybe Grant was just muscle. He had never heard Zane talk with such conviction; and maybe he wouldn’t if Grant was there to stifle him. But Grant wasn’t, and Jeryn was rather proud of his brother’s take-charge handling of the situation.

            Zane turned onto a gravel road and Jeryn’s car squealed to a stop. He faintly heard Zane curse something about him needing brake pads before he slammed the passenger door. For August, it was a bit chill. September was nipping at summer’s heels. He carefully removed the lock on the black, iron gate and swung it wide. The little Malibu crawled through the opening and he closed it to again. As they took off up the twilit hill, a tingle began in Jeryn’s blood. Zane could feel it too. The pack was coming together, their collective energies reverberating through the woods like static lightning. It took a lot of shifters to have that kind of impact. He glanced at Zane and realized they both had goosebumps stippling their arms.

            “Looks like everyone decided to show up,” Zane said, a nervous smile creeping up his lip.

            “Finley’s been busy. Do you think he’s already pronounced Grant guilty?”

            Zane shrugged, “I wouldn’t be surprised. Everybody’s nervous right now. They know that some of us were involved. They’ll be looking for someone to blame. It wouldn’t take a large leap of imagination to point the finger at Grant, or me for that matter; especially since Grant isn’t here to defend his side of the story.”

            A tremor of guilt hit Jeryn in the gut. He was the one who’d called Finley and told him a shifter had been involved. If he’d been more tactful, maybe they could’ve had more leeway in Grant’s defense. He could’ve told Finley an alibi to get Grant off the hook, told him Grant had been at the pool when the scream came from the house, told him anything to give them more time. After all, everything would be fixed once Grant came and showed himself, right? Now, Finley not only knew a shifter had been at the scene, but that Grant was missing. Even to Jeryn, the odds looked bad for Grant if he didn’t get his a*s home.

            They passed a high ridge where a large, modern house stood. Finley was a general contractor. He made good money. His house was a reflection of his status in the pack. He’d owned the land for two decades. The house was relatively new, facing the riverfront. Behind the house, his property stretched over eighty acres, heavily forested, far from prying eyes. The edge of Marquette park lie nearly twenty miles below, separated by bluff and crag, thick tree cover and steep inclines keeping out even the bravest hikers.

            Even if someone trespassed, the most they could say was that they saw a hyena or a panther near the park. A few might come searching for the beast, but the hype wouldn’t last long and most people wouldn’t admit they’d been trespassing, so no one would be looking in the right place anyway. It was the perfect place to slip your skin in peace. Finley had opened his land to all shifters in the pack. Every alpha or single shifter had a key to the padlock of the gate below. Luckily, Zane had known the hiding place of Grant’s.

            The road narrowed and slowly faded into grass, the car rumbling over the dirt path, edged by the darkening wood. They continued on for another mile, then turned left into a wide, verdant field. The grass was still green, despite the scorch of the hot summer and the approach of the coming fall. It had recently been mown, Finley obviously setting someone to work to prepare the meeting. Vehicles were overflowing into unmown areas. How many of the pack had decided to come? Zane snagged a spot in the makeshift lot, glancing at Jeryn before he opened his door.

            “Don’t say anything stupid; not that I think you will, but we’re in a precarious position. If the pack decides to denounce Grant, we have to go along with their decision until we know what’s happened to him.”

            “But I thought you said we were coming here to defend Grant?”

            “Only if he’s innocent, but we don’t know that yet. Do you think you’re the only one that finds it suspicious that Grant just happened to run off from the scene of a murder and hasn’t contacted us since? I mean, why would he hide from us like that? Me and you? Even if he ran away from someone last night, it doesn’t explain why he hasn’t come back today. He’s either guilty, dead, or lying low.”

            “Maybe he knows who did it and they know he knows?”

            Zane frowned and looked at the floorboard, “Ifs, and Maybes; I’m not saying we condemn Grant. He is our brother, of our leap. But if we simply deny everything the pack throws at us, we’ll look like we’re just covering for him. I’m not exactly a clean slate, brother. Hell, I’ve talked to Finley too. He knows I was at the party. I look suspicious almost as much as Grant. They aren’t going to believe me if I tell them I have no idea where Grant is, even if it is the truth.”

            “Ok, and where are we going to place Grant?”

            Zane shrugged, “Out all night whoring. We don’t know where the hell he went but we think he was with a girl. That’s not really deviating from the truth. He was with a girl last night. We both were. If they ask questions, we keep it simple.”

            “Zane, what if he never comes back?”

            Zane shot a burning stare and pointed a large finger towards him, “Don’t say that. He’ll be back. He’s only been gone one night. He’s…” He held up his hands as if searching for words, “Just trust me. Grant is a big boy. He can handle his own. Until then, stick to the truth. It’s not going to help us now if we try to change the story. Finley already knows too much.”

            Jeryn knew he was right. There were members of the pack in the police force. They probably knew more than even he did by now. With a sharp nod to one another, they both exited the car, the chill, night air engulfing their senses. Jeryn walked slightly behind his brother down into the valley that led from the parking field. Zane’s wide, black leather jacket creaked quietly as he walked, a lone cigarette blazing like a firefly in the approaching darkness. It wasn’t quite full dark yet, a hint of blue still peering down on them.

            A light suddenly sprung up from ahead, someone lighting a fire. It was customary to gather in this spot; low in the valley as to avoid detection, thick foliage in all directions surrounding. Quite a crowd had gathered around the catching blaze and the ruddy half-faces of the pack parted as Zane neared them, their eyes silently judgmental as the clouded leopards made their way to the fire. There had to be over seventy individuals, all silent; all awaiting the alphas to speak, for Finley to tell them what the hell they’d come for. This was not the entire pack, far from it, but every sort was represented.

            With his head down, Jeryn caught the scent of varying facets of the pack: the dusty musk of wolf; the spicy sweat of lion; the oily miasma of hyena. Their eyes all followed him after falling on his brother until the gathered bodies parted entirely and the alphas stood before them. Finley, all seven foot of him, stood facing them, his back to the fire. He had to be hot, but you couldn’t tell it. His height made him menacing with the flames licking behind him and Jeryn steeled himself to look into that criticizing face. Finley’s gray eyes flicked from brother to brother, his mind cranking visibly behind a grim expression. The question didn’t need to be asked. It hung thick on the air: Where the absolute F**K is your brother?

            Zane lowered his chin to his chest in respective greeting and Jeryn followed suit. Propitiated by the submissive gesture, Finley gave a small nod and his nostrils flared as he prepared to address the pack.

            “I’m sure many of you already know or have some idea why we are gathered here tonight. Last night, around two AM, a Matt Orlens was murdered in his house in Alton. He was a friend in whom the leopards held confidence, of which they trusted, and they often frequented his social gatherings. It has come to the pack’s attention that, not only was Mister Orlens’ death related to an unknown supernatural, but also to an unknown shifter,” Finley waited for the information to sink in before taking an irritable pace away from the fire, “It has also come to the pack’s attention that Grant Halcomb, alpha of our group of clouded leopards, has concurrently gone missing.”

            Jeryn’s eyes narrowed as Finley lingered over the word concurrently. Maybe he had already placed the blame on Grant.

            Jace Morwen took a step towards the fire. A grizzled figure, he was the pack advisor for the wolves, “And where is our spotted friend? What have his brothers to say about his disappearance? Why does this concern any of us? It’s not like this is the first time the cat caught somebody’s tongue.”

            A few harrumphs of agreement mumbled from the crowd. Zane’s skin bristled and Jeryn caught the faint silhouette of black claws curling from his brother’s fingertips.

            “Because, old man, my brother always tells us where he is when he stays gone. Otherwise we wouldn’t be calling him missing would we? And you weren’t at the party. You didn’t smell what we smelled.”

            The gray-haired man clenched a solid fist. He wasn’t as tall as Zane, or as strong, but Jeryn was sure the old-timer still had fight enough in him to cause them problems.

            “I don’t care what you smelled. A human murder is hardly cause to set the whole pack on alarm. He wasn’t one of us.”

            The threat of conflict hung like a choking mist on the air. Everyone was nervous, human murder or not. A thin, balding man stepped from the crowd. Jeryn was pretty sure his surname was Price, but couldn’t place his first name. Price looked gangly in the firelight and Jeryn noticed his officer’s uniform as he walked towards them.

            “I, for one, agree with the leopards. I was called to the scene of the incident last night. I and Officer Tally both searched the woods around the Orlens’ property. We found neither spore nor tracks, but there was a heavy shifter scent surrounding and exuding from the house. Unmistakable. And something else; something I couldn’t place. There were shifters at that house last night and I can almost bet money that they weren’t ours and I definitely don’t believe they worked alone,” Price’s dark-circled eyes nervously scanned the crowd and found Finley’s predatory gaze; his lip quivered, “I saw the boy’s body. None of us could’ve done what was done to him. Not alone. Officer Tally said she felt like the entire area had been marked somehow, maybe by a witch.”

            Morwen’s face curled into a wolfish grimace, “Oh, so now we’re supposed to believe we have witches working with shifters? They haven’t even spit in our direction since the European witch trials. When the beast of Gévaudan laid waste to France, she did her job too well. Why would the witches give a toss about collaboration now? We’ve been on their bad side for generations.”

            As much as Jeryn hated to agree with the codger, he had to. The wolf of Gévaudan had wantonly exposed both the shifters and the witches. The shifters, whose only proof of existence was their bodily selves, had no trouble hiding in plain sight from the dim Christian accusation of the time; witches, on the other hand, had more trouble concealing their various grimoires and rituals from the peasant folk.

            Contrary to popular belief, the shifters could change at will, having no connection to the full moon other than it being a convenient light source in which to go about their nightly business; whereas witches had to conceal their trade, their wares, and their rites from their neighbors- not an easy task when the entire village had witch fever and would burn you alive if you simply had a suspicious jar of mushrooms or were crossed by a black cat. The she-beast of the seventeen-hundreds was an example of what happens when a shifter decides to out themselves. She’d killed dozens in those rural mountains. No wonder the wolves were the most recognized in popular culture- they’d made themselves infamous.

            Jeryn made a mental note to put witches on the back-burner. He didn’t cross them off his list, but the old wolf had a point. Most witches wouldn’t be too thrilled with shifters as their accomplices.

            Zane sighed and gave his attention back to Officer Price, “Where is Officer Tally?”

            “She’s on duty right now.”

            Zane nodded, “Did you cover the entire property last night; the both of you?”

            Price shrugged, “Most of it. We searched the woods heavily and we each saw the living room.”

            “And did you smell Grant, my brother or me in the house?”

            Price tucked his fingers into his belt loops and rocked on his feet, “I did smell leopard,” Price’s eyes flicked quickly to Finley, then went to the crowd, “But I don’t believe Grant or any of you killed that boy. Hell, he had pictures of Jeryn and him in his bedroom. He was…”

            The little man seemed to collapse in on himself and another shifter came from behind to put an arm around his shoulder. Jeryn perked as he realized the woman was Lola Anthony, the only werefox in the pack. Her red ponytail slid over her shoulder as she cooed to Price, then her gold eyes whirled to Finley’s. There was a fire in her, much like her crimson mane.

            “I think Price is right. Why would Grant or any of his brothers be involved with Orlens’ death? Grant’s a womanizer and a dick, not a murderer. Finley, you need to lay off the kids. They’ve already been through enough.”

            Finley’s stony eyes met her gold ones and their stares clashed, “Fox. Do not tell me how to run my own pack. I am not incriminating any of them at the moment, but I think it best if we hear all sides of this story.”

            Lola’s gaze tore away from Finley and Jeryn found himself caught in them before she turned to the crowd, “Is this how we treat our friends when they are murdered?” She threw her head towards Morwen, “It could be witches for all we know. It could be anything. Regardless, do we want whatever it is murdering people in our territory? If it’s a supernatural murder, it’s only a matter of time before a supernatural is killed. We have too much resting on this pack to let outsiders move in to tear it apart. If we can’t defend our own people, it makes us look like an easy target. If shifters were involved in this murder and we don’t do anything about it, it means we don’t know how to manage our own territory. I know the cloudies haven’t forgotten the Ursus massacre in Colorado. Do you?”

            Lola’s speech sent shockwaves throughout the entire pack. She was a far better leader than Finley; she only needed to grow by about eight-hundred pounds- then she might have enough clout to fight him for control. Jeryn’s heart wilted at the mention of Colorado. He missed the state almost as much as he missed his leap. The stagnant, sticky feel of Illinois summer was cruel in comparison to the thin mountain air of his childhood home. It always seemed hot or cold in Illinois. When it was hot, it was humid; when it was cold, it was windy. There were few days that fell between.

            Beads of sweat were standing out on Finley’s forehead and Jeryn was positive it wasn’t just the fire behind him but the fire standing in front of him that caused it. Lola’s tone had clearly been hostile and the big man’s throat was ready to burst with indignation. He looked ready to chastise the wily little fox, when his cowardice took over and he glossed over her threat coolly. It was easier to ignore hostility than engage it. Such was their striped leader’s ways that they had become accustomed to the weakness. It was only the idea that Finley Toller could kick your a*s that held everyone at bay. There was a great potential for violence lurking in that tall, Scandinavian body- but it was wasted on him and everyone knew it.

            “Fine. As of tonight, the leopards have amnesty. They will have it until proven otherwise.”

            A barrage of groans, growls, and yells ruptured from the collective throats of the crowd in agreement. Finley was just about to begin another round of questions when a voice crooned over everyone’s heads from the outside of the circle. Jeryn watched as the swarm of bodies parted in a tide and gulped as the alpha of the Midwestern lion pride, Simon Lorre, was revealed. If anyone was a threat to Finley’s hold over the pack, it was Simon. He was almost as powerful as Toller, and significantly more ruthless. All of the shifters were far larger than their animal cousins. Simon made an African lion look like a p***y.

            Lorre’s face was partially locked in shadow, but Jeryn could see his canines gleam in his mouth and his amber eyes; the pupils grapeshot, catching the light. Zane and Jeryn glanced at each other. Something was wrong. The lions and wolves were such large groups; they rarely sent their alphas to pack meetings. They almost always sent their advisors in their place, hence Morwen. The lions had sent their advisor, Vince Nikact. There was no reason for Lorre to be here- not unless he meant business.

            Zane and Jeryn melted back into the crowd as Lorre crossed to Toller. The circle around them and the fire widened. No one wanted involved in whatever was about to happen.

            “Toller? I assume you’ve gathered to discuss the first murder? And where have you gotten so far?”

            Lorre’s voice was a crude baritone mixed between human and animal. His body shook with the effort to hold back his tawny beast, the creature’s aura vibrating menacingly about his human shell. Lorre was tall, nearly six-six, and his skin was the color of pale honey, his hair the black of vigorous strength, cropped close to his head.

            “Why are you here? And what do you mean by first murder?”

            Lorre shook his head, “You literally have no idea what is happening to this pack do you? Something has been killing the lions. We found six this evening, dead; butchered. What is going on Toller? I’ve been calling you over and over for hours! Ryan Goebbel called me around six tonight. His wife is missing! Did you know about any of this?”

            Zane’s shoulders tightened as he heard the news. Nobody seemed to notice that Mr. Goebbel had called Simon before Finley. The Goebbels were black bears. Who could possibly take down six lions and kidnap a black bear? Did the same people kill Matt and have Grant?

            Finley made a confused gesture, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

            Lorre cut him off mid-sentence, “You didn’t know? You’re the leader of this pack and you had no idea someone was out murdering your people. You’re missing a leopard, a black bear, and six lions, and you didn’t even pick up the phone when we tried to contact you. Do you not have a f*****g cell? Scratch that, have you even questioned what the thing killing us off is? Toller…my men…they were…violated. Their bodies were hung in the trees; they had crushed bones; their f*****g eyes were torn from their sockets.”

            Finley glanced down, “Get away from me Lorre, right now. I don’t want to fight. You’re making a big deal out of this. You are not the leader of this pack.”

            Finley glanced up at the werelion then, his own eyes going yellow. He couldn’t have said anything worse to Lorre.

            Lorre’s face became enraged, “A big deal?! Our people are getting mutilated out there! You don’t want to fight? If we don’t fight these things there won’t be any of us left within the month! You’re a coward, Toller, and we don’t need a coward leading this hunt when he can’t even find his own f*****g balls! I’m done cowering!”

            The melted shimmer of flesh rolled over Lorre then, his beast taking full form, his human skin sloughing off into himself, the beast consuming its shell. The crowd made way for the other ocher beasts, their bodies braced for combat. Nobody seemed quite sure what to do; whether to stand by and watch or jump into the fray.

            Lorre slammed into Finley’s human body with the full force of a speeding car, Finley’s body writhing, trying desperately to change skins before Lorre could find his throat. A demented cry rose from the mass of people at Jeryn’s back. A hyena was tearing into one of Lorre’s lions, blood already covering their mouths, the lion’s side torn to shreds. The entire group erupted into chaos then, fighting and running and trying to extract themselves from the animal carnage around them. Lorre had at least twenty-five lions with him. He’d clearly come with purpose. Finley had finally met his match.

            Jeryn stumbled over a moaning, furry body as Zane grabbed his wrist, trying to lead them outside the battle. They were nearly to the edge of the skirmish when a tan body knocked Zane off his feet. The lion paused a moment to collect himself before turning to Zane. Jeryn felt his beast screaming inside him, the energy of the change growing beneath his sternum, his bones popping and shifting in the explosive pain of transformation. He collapsed to his side, feet pounding around him, the terrible sounds of screaming animals echoing in his thrumming pulse. His eyes focused as he stood again, human limbs traded for padded feet.

            Zane’s black coat contrasted against the yellow back of the lion, the seven-inch sabre teeth of his brother’s jaws clamped tightly in the folds of his opponent’s mane. The lion threw his body around profusely, trying in vain to loosen the leopard’s stapled grip from his neck. Jeryn had little time to witness this, when a blow came from his right. He fell back and scrambled to his feet as his attacker moved on to fight someone else. He glanced across the field, the silhouettes of animals dancing bloodily in the grass, a ringing still assaulting his ears from the blow, when a small figure darted from the writhing masses.

            A fox, her nose dashed with crimson deeper than her own, was running for the woods, running for cover. Lola had barely reached the woods when she turned and let out a shriek. An explosion of blood and meat rolled through the brush, almost crushing her. Finley, and a hyena trying miserably to help, were fighting Lorre, the thick black mane of the lion already a wet halo of the tiger’s blood. Finley must’ve run at some point, their chase returning to the valley, Toller hoping against hope that his comrades might save his life. The tiger’s thirteen foot body was pinned beneath his equally large combatant’s, Lorre dangerously close to his back vertebrae, his teeth digging into Finley’s shoulder in a gushing tear of meat. Jeryn was horrified. Rarely did dominance battles end in death. Lorre’s assertion was undeniable; Finley Toller would die tonight if he didn’t get help.

            Jeryn glanced from Finley to his brother. Zane was off of the lion’s back now, a deep gash torn in his adversary’s neck, tan fur in clumps at their feet. Zane opened his mouth wide, his canines gleaming in the dim firelight and mixed moonlight. A howl arose from behind, four of the wolves racing towards Finley and Lorre. Wasting no more time, Jeryn raced with them, instead going for the neck of the lion his brother had barely been holding at bay.

            The lion was caught off guard, Jeryn’s seven foot body knocking him off balance. With a satisfying pop, his canines sunk into the lion’s throat, the great beast rearing back on feet the size of dinner plates. Jeryn held his grip in concentration. Zane was hurt. He had seen as much when he’d run for the lion, but he couldn’t think of that now. It was just his teeth and the thrumming throat beneath it. There wasn’t room for anything else. He struggled to breathe as gallons of blood poured down his throat; he must’ve hit the jugular vein. The lion was struggling less, his great weight easing into the grass, the black of his life’s blood making a puddle of heat that was growing under Jeryn’s side. Steam was rising all around them.

            Adjusting his mouth, Jeryn risked a glance towards his brother. Zane wasn’t a leopard anymore. His pale body had reverted back to its human shell. That wasn’t a good sign. Finally, after several bouts of quivering and seizing, the lion sunk to the ground in a motionless heap. Jeryn relinquished his grip and stared at the still form. If he wasn’t dead, it wasn’t long.

            The fighting was dying down across the whole valley now- those finding peace and those already at peace. The dead were strewn from one end of the small valley to the other, the leftovers gathering back around the smoldering fire pit. With a rush of exhaustion, Jeryn confined his beast back into its narrow, pale cage. Before crawling to his brother, he wretched, black clots of blood had fermented in his stomach and were now roiling in his human belly, unable to manage the animal ingestion of so much bodily fluid. Zane’s arm trembled as Jeryn touched it. His leg was torn wide open and Jeryn searched briefly before finding his tee and tearing a strip of it off to form a tourniquet. The sounds of crying and coming death were echoing in the August glen. Jeryn cradled his brother’s head and searched him for further injury. He would be scarred, but he would live. He’d lost a lot of blood. Laying his jacket over his brother’s naked body, he stood, shaking with exhaustion, cold, and the ghost of adrenaline. Near the fire, a huge form was standing, the black mane pronouncing the victor of Finley and Lorre’s battle.

            Jeryn jumped as a willowy figure emerged from the woods to his right. Lola was crying, her red hair a tangle of leaves and earth. She glanced wildly toward the fire and back to where Finley’s body was surely broken near the forest’s edge. She grabbed Jeryn’s elbow and stared at the ground, “Finley is almost dead. We need to get out of here.”

            Jeryn gave a small nod, “Get a few others. I’ll call Doctor Bates. Meet me at the top of the hill with Finley. Be careful moving him. Staunch the blood if you can.”

            Lola’s eyes gave away everything they both felt. It would be a miracle if Finley Toller survived even the trip up the hill, much less the ride to the shifter infirmary. As he carried Zane’s unconscious body up the hill, a small, shaggy creature ran up to him. It was a cairn terrier, a shifter that could only be Nathan Bridgefield.

            The little weredog followed him closely, shifting back to his human form among the cover of the cars. Nathan was only two years younger than himself at eighteen. His eyes were plagued with restless dread, “Lorre thinks he knows where your brother is.”

            Jeryn glanced across the back seat to the weredog as he adjusted his brother’s prone form, trying to wedge a blanket between his brother’s wounds and his upholstery. All he needed right now were blood stains in his car when he was due to get questioned by the police any day.

            “Oh, does he now?”

            Nathan’s brown eyebrows rose above his even darker brown eyes, “Don’t shoot the messenger. What are you going to do about Finley? Lorre wants to know.”

            Jeryn straightened and looked at Nathan over the roof of the car, “F**k Lorre. He didn’t have to take it this far. A quarter of the pack is nearly dead because of him. He knew what he was doing to Finley. He probably just wants to know where we’ll bury him and to that I still say: F**K Lorre.”

            Nathan glanced around nervously, his Adam’s apple trembling. Jeryn imagined that if he were still a dog, his tail would be tucked. He was the only dog in the pack. There were wolves, jackals, coyotes- he just didn’t fit in anywhere- a soul bound to anyone who would take him. No wonder he was nervous.

            “Do you really want me to tell Lorre that?”

            “For god’s sake Nathan, No. Don’t tell him s**t. He just exacerbated all of our problems tenfold. Finley is a coward and he needed to step down; but he didn’t need to almost die to get that done. Our pack is fucked.”

            “Do you think so?”

            “What do you think, Nathan?”

            He glanced towards the valley, then at Zane’s leg, still oozing blood; the skin slowly knitting itself together, “I think we’re fucked.”

            “Damn right we are. Now go help Lola and the others carry Toller up the hill. They’ll need every pair of hands they can get. An ambulance can’t get down there.”

            Doctor Bates answered groggily, his elderly voice cracking over the phone. When Jeryn told him their predicament, Bates paused a moment, then told him an arrival time. He would be there with help in half an hour. Jeryn prayed Finley could last that long. Looking at Zane, he hoped the news Lorre had on Grant wasn’t that they’d found his body. Zane would be out of the picture for at least a week; he wasn’t sure he could take on the role of alpha, even for that long.

            Nathan re-appeared suddenly, carrying a bundle of clothes, “Thought you might need these if you’re going to be driving. They’re mostly clean. Lola said they got Finley handled. He’s still alive.”

            Jeryn riffled through the various garments, slipping on his dew-misted tee and jeans and picking the car keys from his brother’s pocket.

            He glanced at the weredog, “Thanks, Nathan. You know, you can come with me if you want.”

            Nathan nodded, “I didn’t think you’d ever ask. You going to your house?”

            Jeryn nodded, “Zane will be fine if he can just stay still. His leg’s already healing on the outside. He just needs rest.”

            As they made their way down to the river road, Nathan raised his shaggy eyebrows high at Jeryn, “So, you killed a lion?”

            Jeryn shrugged, trying to keep his face blank, but smiling nonetheless, “I killed an a*****e.”

            Zane’s voice suddenly perked up from the back seat, “Hell yeah you did.”

            Jeryn looked at the rearview mirror at his brother, an unsure grin plastered to his face as the car wove the curves, the headlights throwing shadows on the bluffs as they passed.