Page 5 of Destined Predator
Animals like wolves or coyotes saw the world in different shades from humans, a mix of monochrome and sepia shades, but, being human too, Casey knew what colors thingsshouldbe and his brain kind of compensated, throwing upredorgreenorblueoryellowas descriptors for objects. It was some weird shit, he supposed.
He took a deep breath of the evening, filtering and categorizing the familiar, expected scents of vegetation and dirt…and prey. With ayipthat was more breath than sound, he directed his pack’s attention to where the hare was lying immobile in a patch of long grass, doing that stupid thing of freezing and hoping the predator lost interest.Never works.
Emil, slender-haunched, more gray than black, nudged his shoulder into Casey’s, jerking his head to the north. Casey lifted his muzzle and sniffed. True—bigger prey hid beyond the trees.Pronghorn antelope.One up on a hare.But they needed to race now, to feel their paws pounding the dirt as they chased a fast little critter they could easily set to running. It did them good to reaffirm their bonds when they worked as a team, passing unspoken signals among the six of them to trap their prey in a pincer move. He shook his head then howled.
It wasn’t loud, no shriek of triumph to the night, but just enough to startle the hare from its temporary hideout and get it running. As one, the pack set off in pursuit. Casey savored the speed he had in coywolf form, the power and strength of his four-limbed body, the whistle of the wind through his fur. He also relished the proximity to his pack members, how they raced together, Robin and Emil, the younger ones, in the middle.
Living where they did, on the outskirts of Britton, they had access to the space they needed, and Wyoming had the diverse terrain, studded with hills and rivers, fields and woods, that was good for running and jumping, crouching and hiding, ambushing and taking down. Oh, and it was home to all the small—and not so small—critters they could wish for, giving variety to their hunting.
The little hare was breathing fast and loudly now, and its heart thudding louder. They weren’t planning on killing it, but it didn’t know that. Casey should have felt guilty about their actions, about liking the scent of fear prey gave off when pursued, howmuch it fired him. He couldn’t, though. It was his nature. Their paws, working in unison, thudded like drumbeats as they chased their quarry, and Casey’s coywolf muscles and sinews stretched and strengthened.
Suddenly, the hare vanished, diving scratchily and messily into a burrow, probably not its own. It took them all a second or two to stop and double back to where it had gone to ground. Lacey stamped on the dirt and shot to the hole that might have been small but that gaped black in the twilight. She scraped at it. In another second, she’d be scrabbling at it with both forepaws.Stubborn no matter what form she’s in.Casey gave a shake of his head.
Ben let loose a bark, its high pitch telling them he’d gotten another scent, and raced off. His younger brothers and sisters followed. Casey was content to let his brother take the lead. He had to learn how. They all did. He let them get ahead so he’d really have to push himself to catch up with them and was preparing to bound off when he caught another scent.
Bigger mammal.Another shifter, here!Casey’s heart rate picked up as adrenaline shot through him. He couldn’t tell what sort of animal this was. He inhaled, running the odor by those he knew.Not wolf. Not coyote. Not…coywolf.His fur prickled, then rose, and he loped toward the bushes where the creature was, but before he was halfway there, shuffling became scuffling then a dark shape fleeing in the gloom.
Casey’s lips lifted in a snarl. This wasn’t coquetry, wasn’t another shifter running to make him chase and catch—it was cowardice. Lifting his head up to the stars, he howled his disdain. The sound came out more lonely than he had meant it to. For a moment he imagined another voice answering, deep, rough, unmistakably human. Rhett’s. The thought made his pulse trip and his coywolf snort at his own weakness.
The thrill at being out in coywolf form ebbed and loneliness rushed in. But he had plans to combat that…and maybe give him a shot at finding—What?That special someone?His coywolf mocked his human side, which mocked back. Casey made his way to their meeting point and shifted, then switched on the shower bag they always had hanging from a tree branch there. There hadn’t been enough sunlight to heat up the water much, making him grit his teeth against the not-far-off cold water as he got clean, but he didn’t want to return to the house. There was no need to do so to change, either, not when he kept spare clothes in his bike saddlebag.
“Hey…” Anne, the first arrival, shifted then eyed him in surprise as he squeezed water from his waves of hair. It would dry on the way. “Thought we were having pizza?”
“Sure. Your choice. Take some money from the housekeeping drawer.” Casey threw a leg over his bike.
“Where you going?” demanded Ben, the next to arrive and shift.
“That’s my business.” Casey gestured for them to stand aside, because he was revving the engine to roar away. He ignored Anne yelling after him, asking if he’d got a date.
If he had or hadn’t, it was none of their concern. He set course for Bard’s Saloon, to see what the night would bring. The road to town cut through open country, the kind of stretch where a man could think too much. Wind slapped against him, cold and clean, smelling faintly of rain and possibility. For once, Casey let himself hope the night might bring more than trouble.
Chapter Three
Aquick scan of the saloon car park showed Rhett his date’s vehicle was already there, making Rhett check his watch to see if he was late.Nope. He’s early.
He exited his truck and was about to make tracks for the door, but hesitated for a few seconds, then cupped his hands around his mouth and breathed into them. He paused long enough to catch his reflection in the side window. Hell, he looked fine—too fine for the nerves jittering in his gut. Maybe because this was the first time he’d shown up for a date knowing the whole town might see, might talk. Britton wasn’t exactly famous for minding its own business. He had mints in the truck. He could easily—Hell!Anyone would think he’d never been on a goddamn date before! He strode in, letting the saloon door bang behind him. The familiar smell of beer and old pine hit him, comfort tangled with something like dread. This was his world—boots, sawdust,and stories told too loud—but tonight it felt like walking into the wrong skin.
Bard’s looked the same as ever, its long bar counter sleek and wooden, a match for the stools tucked under it and a complement to the booths studded around the place. Rhett frowned. Did it have even more painted Western landscape scenes, mounted animal heads and black-and-white photos of life in Fallon County? He thought so—he hadn’t been in for a couple of weeks and might have missed some acquisitions.
“Hey, Bard.” Rhett nodded a greeting to the owner, the current Bard. He had no idea what the guy’s real name was and didn’t know anyone who did. “What’s new?”
He meant it literally, and Bard took it that way, grinning his gap-toothed way over to where he took down a branding iron and wooden ranch sign. That wall held the cattle brands of locals who’d passed through the doors over the years, along with plaques from their ranches—it was the custom to order a smaller replica of the ranch sign for Bard’s. Rhett cast a quick glance over at the Double T’s before nodding at the latest one.
“Nice.” The design was a little fanciful for him, with some letters reversed and an arrow added, but it wasn’t his business.
“You heard another bar’s opening here in town?” Bard demanded.
Rhett hadn’t.
“A franchise, some sorta theme venue, from what Cindy picked up? Staff all in costumes, and cocktails with stupid names and craft ales? Whatevertheyare.”
“Full restaurant and a dinner theater too,” Cindy chipped in from over Bard’s shoulder.
“Whateverthatis.” Bard’s face said he wished the spittoon wasn’t just for décor. “Fake steer out back for roping practice? Now that’s just plainridiculous.”
“Oh, no other bar’s gonna have what you do,” Rhett assured him. At least, he doubted another would have Bard’s collection of taxidermy birds and animals on little plinths down one wall, or a glass case containing the rope ‘used in the town’s last hanging’. His face creased in a grin, remembering how his pa had told him thathispa had known for a fact that the rope had come from Wendell’s Hardware and Goods, over on Elm.
“Folks’ll still flock here for your Friday night two-step dances,” Cindy said, patting her boss’ arm. “Ain’t nothing like a backroom full of spinning and rocking country swing dancers.”
