Page 2 of Fighting Furry

“Hey, Shel. I made it.”

“Julie!” Shelly spoke like she was beyond excited to speak to me, her southern accent soothing me like warm honey. Shelly and I had been roommates early on, when neither of us had a dime to our names. She was different from me in every way imaginable, but she was loyal as hell and she'd saved my ass more than once. I loved her like a sister and I missed her genteel ass already. “What's it like there?”

“It truly is the middle of nowhere, Shel. There's not a Starbucks for more than a hundred miles.”

“You know you can come back here any time. We've got the guest bedroom on standby.”

Shelly owned a spa in the ritziest part of LA and she was extremely generous to me. She was also recently married and blissfully happy. Unlike me, she'd decided to become an adult and was talking about having kids as soon as possible. I wasn't about to interrupt her wedded bliss with my grumpy self. And I would be exceedingly grumpy not being able to train. “I'm good, Shel. It can't be any worse than our first apartment.”

“Gah,” she said. “Don't remind me. I still have nightmares about that dump.”

“I don't. It reminds me of how far I've come and where I'll never go again.”

Shelly sighed. “You don't have to fight, Jules. You can coach or train or teach self-defense. You're smart and you can-”

I'd heard it all before and I never quite believed it. Fighting was the only thing I'd ever been good at and I needed to keep doing it. “I know, Shel. I gotta go. I'm starving.”

“Okay, Jules. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I hung up and sighed, a familiar gloom settling over me. When I met Shelly, I'd been a fifteen-year-old runaway and the place I'd run from, it hadn't prepared me in any way for life on the streets. Shel was a year older, a bit more street-wise, and together we'd looked out for each other. She'd run away from poverty in Alabama to become a movie star and had found life in LA a lot tougher than she'd anticipated.

Somehow, we'd found jobs, me at the gym where I'd met my coach, Shelly at an all-night diner, and saved enough money for a rat-hole apartment. It hadn't been pretty, in fact it had been downright terrifying, but somehow, we'd made it. I'd loaned Shelly the money to open her spa after I won my first big fight. She'd paid me back with interest, even though I didn't want it, and she'd given me a lifetime free pass to her spa. I remembered all too well how thin the line between starvation and comfort was and I wasn't going to do anything to risk my current security. I needed to fight, to put more money into my savings, until I had enough to feel safe, to be sure I'd never be homeless and desperate again.

The patter of rain against the window quieted. I stood and hobbled to the kitchen, my knee stiff now that I'd been still. My stomach rumbled as I opened the refrigerator. It was bare, its white shelves glistening and clean. Krista had said she'd leave me some food, but she'd clearly lied. I went to the pantry, hoping for a box of mac and cheese or noodles, but all I found was flour and olive oil. I dug through kitchen drawers for take-out menus, but came up empty. I googled local pizza joints and found the closest one that would deliver was eighty miles away. The same was true for Chinese, subs, Thai, and everything else I could think of that would have been only a phone call away in LA.

I looked out the window. It was dark and wet out there. It appeared to have stopped raining, but it didn't matter if it was a full-fledged typhoon, I needed food. I got back into the truck and headed to main street. I parked on the street in front of the building labeled Groceries and stepped out into an enormous mud puddle. Water splashed up my pant leg and into my boot. I sighed. Maybe interrupting Shelly's wedded bliss would be the better option.

The store was brightly lit, so I hurried inside, grabbed a basket, and looked around. At least the grocery store looked normal. It was enormous and appeared to carry everything a person could ever need, as well as a buffet with steaming warm food. My mouth watered. I filled my basket with the basic necessities, loaded up a plate with food, paid for everything, and sat at the nearest table to chow down.

There weren't many people in the store, in fact there were only two shoppers in my line of sight, both dressed in t-shirts and shorts like they thought it was the height of summer. Which it technically was since it was August, but the temperatures were more December in LA terms.

The woman was wearing a revealing tank top and was…Wow, I was pretty sure she'd just pinned the guy against the wall between the deli section and the bakery. I couldn't see much, but it didn't look like the guy was fighting her off…In fact,…was that a…? I averted my eyes and decided to focus on my meal. Watching the two of them much longer might make me lose my appetite.

Krista had said something about the town being strange, but surely someone would remind them they were in a grocery store. Any minute now. I ate quickly, to the background music of moans and sexy growls. If I was in the city, I would have yelled at them to get a room, or something equally cliché, but I wasn't in LA. I didn't yet know the quirks of Mule Creek, and…Okay, I was mostly worried my shout would make the woman step away from the man and I'd see way more of them both than I wanted to see. Not that I was a prude or anything, but what if the dude worked somewhere I went on a regular basis, like the gym, and every time I saw him I'd remember that I'd seen his cock and I'd know it bent to the left or was radically groomed or ungroomed? No, best to just eat and run.

I dumped my empty dishes, grabbed my bags, and ran from the building. I was halfway to the truck when someone shouted, “Hey, girl,” and grabbed my hips, holding me firmly in place. The hands on my hips and the words, those words my father had said so often, “hey, girl, what the hell you doing?” Or “hey girl, where the hell do you think you're going?” took me out of Mule Creek and sent me back to my teenage years in another city. My father used to grab me by my arm, or the back of my neck, or my hips, hold me in place, and speak in a low voice. “You are a worthless piece of shit. You are nothing and no one. You aren't worth the money I spend to feed and clothe you. Your mother and I are disappointed in you. What are you wearing? You look like a whore.” The words might vary but they were always horrible, always soul-shattering. I'd fought back once and he'd taken his anger out on my mother with his fists. I'd stopped fighting back.

I was frozen, memories washing over me, terror cementing my feet in place, until someone pressed his nose to my neck and sniffed me, something my father never would have done.

I snapped back to reality as the guy behind me growled. “A human?”

I spun on the crazy asshole, leading with my right. I might be left-handed, but I could punch damn hard with my right, too. I hit him before I saw him, a glancing blow to his temple. He was a few inches taller than me, but twice as wide and bulky with muscle. He pressed a hand to his head and looked at me with wide eyes. “What the—”

I didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence. I kicked him twice in quick succession. Two blows to his right leg to take him down before he could come at me again. He barely flinched. The guy had to be on something. I don't care how big he was, he should have been howling like a baby after those kicks. He growled and lunged at me, but I was ready for him. I wrapped my good arm around his neck and used his own momentum to ride him to the ground. I lay my body on top of his and tightened my neck lock. He scrabbled at my fingers, but I held tight. Somewhere, a small voice was screaming that I might be overreacting, but I ignored it. I wouldn't be safe until I'd taken this guy out.

Unfortunately, he was big enough that he was able to pop me up and off him. I rolled under him, the pavement hard on my back, and curled my knees up, ready to kick him. He darted out of range. “Look, lady, I'm just trying to—”

He was a bit off-kilter, probably from lack of oxygen to his brain, and he stumbled back into range. I arched my back and managed to wrap my legs around his neck. I squeezed hard and something changed. His eyes flashed with a weird sort of light and he growled again, but he sounded like an animal. It startled me so much I loosened my grip.

“Hey,” someone far off shouted. “What's going on?”

I tried to get my legs back tight around his neck, but he twisted his head and bit down hard on my calf. I screamed in shock more than pain as his teeth pierced my calf muscle. I'd taken a lot of punches and kicks, but no one had ever bitten me before.

I released my legs and scrabbled on the concrete away from him. The guy was fucking insane. I tried to stand, to get back into a fighting stance, but my bad knee was locking up on me and my vision…I hadn't taken a blow to my head, but everything was blurry and my body felt heavy, so heavy. Despite that, I forced myself to my feet and spread my legs wide. I raised my fists, ready to fight since I couldn't run.

“What the hell is happening here?” Another guy had joined the first and was looking from me to my attacker and back again. “Shit, Jeremiah, get a hold of yourself.” He grabbed my attacker by the shoulders and shook him a bit. “Calm the fuck down.”

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