Rocket slipped his burner cell back into a pocket and sauntered over to his king.  Babier’s back was coated in surprisingly sharp bone spurs, razor edged lengths facing out and punctuating his massive bronze mane.  The man was positively delicious.

“Boss man, slight hitch.”

Those eyes, full of violence and raw, untamable power, turned to Rocket.  There was an intellect to the king’s beast that was truly terrifying.  Rocket felt himself rise to the moment and slid in close enough to reach out and touch Babier.  The male -- and in this form, there was no denying his masculinity -- closed the distance with a growl.  This was the dance, the eternal quest to be loved by the embodiment of death without slipping under his spell.  

Swallowing and acutely aware of the difference in forms and just how splendid that felt under the sheets, Rocket withdrew his phone as though it were a talisman and waved it a few times.

“Guy says he’s had an unexpected expense and he’s illiquid right now.  He’ll pay our fee and an extra ten percent if we can let him off with half the rate today and the rest in a few months.”

“No.”  

Rocket lingered on the monosyllabic reply as it reverberated from his lungs to his loins.  Gods, what an amazing thing to be taken, right here, right now, on top of the still-warm, as yet uncongealed blood of their enemies?  He turned his gaze to the exact source of his thoughts, knowing better than to try and hide his plainive desires.

“Yeah, uh, I’ll just go ahead and let ‘em know your words.”

The call went on for some time until, finally, Rocket shrugged and hung up again.  “He can get you close, only a twelve-percent gap, and he’s got a, and I quote, cute little blonde accident, double D at least, who would very much like you to take her leash.”

Babier glanced up, his tail swishing as he listened.  He set his ring-finger to his wrist.  “Come to me.”    Rocket smiled, glad that it was Kitty who as being summoned.  Babier had brought Kitty’s sister into the life and the much younger kid had followed them, somehow.  She’d been twelve and her sister had been protective enough that her presence had been tolerated.  Now, at twenty, she was a self-taught accountant, handled most of the books, and saw Babier as a father figure and not as something she’d any interest in fucking.  

He liked that about her.  

When Kitty came around the corner, carefully avoiding standing pools of blood and viscera, Rocket handed her the phone.  She pressed in the most recently dialed number and started off with “To whom do I speak?”  This was followed by a few “Mhmm’s, a few expressions of mental calculation, a few questions regarding dimensions and the types of payment being offered, a final shrug, and the words “We accept.  I’ll text you the drop-off coordinates.”

Flipping the phone closed, she tossed it to me and smiled  in a general sort of way.  Rocket felt himself stir again and fixed his gaze on Babier’s mane, knowing this to be a much safer thing to lust after than Kitty’s tight and tiny ass.  Gods, though, the muscles must need help relaxing and he loved giving massages.

Levi or Benji -- after a battle they were very difficult to tell apart -- approached Babier and lowered his head, accepting a gentle head-butt and an almost loving caress.  Ah, so it was Levi.  The man then smiled and began grooming himself in long, slow licks down his chest, over his shoulder and, turning, over the top of his back.  

The display had the desired effect and Levi stared up at Babier with undisguised, smoldering lust.  Rocket stared at the both of them with the same, happy to be in such a wonderfully loving and high-functioning family.  If he wasn’t worried about getting his suit yucky, he’d have crossed in and jumped in the middle of this little love-fest.  Unfortunately, this was business and the promises could presently be no more than that.

…

Sasha tossed yet another wet-nap into the waste-bin.  Compared to everyone else, she was pristine.  She would have remained thusly had Zinnie not tossed a heart at her.  She’d dodged the dumb thing but a few drops had landed on her face despite this.

Beside her, Kitten drove in a leisurely manner, clearly enjoying the sun that had peaked through the crowds.  In the back, Chamomile and Rocket were making out on the plastic-coated seats instead of changing into their civies.  Sasha glanced at the gloves and boots where they sat in their water-tight duffel carrier and doubled checked that her shirt was blemish free.  

Honestly, a little professionalism should not have been too much to ask.  At least Kitten was still steady as a rock.  Sighing, she turned up the radio to drown out the pair in the backseat.  They were almost done; she just had to get through dinner with these three and she could go home and have a nice, long shower.  

Her transmitting implant buzzed faintly and she put a finger over her left ear, blocking the radio from interfering with whatever instructions were pending.  “We’ve got a bit of a situation.  Sasha, you have your bike parked downtown.  We need you to do a quick pickup and drop-off.  Andes is bringing the SUV around.  You copy that, Kitten?  We’ll do the swap by the Krispy Kreme.”

Swearing softly under her breath, Sasha flipped down the visor mirror and pulled a small make-up kit from the center console.  Her lips received a fresh coat of mauve and her eyes a quick application of liquid liner.  Kitten drove incredibly smoothly while she worked at this, tapping her hands in time to the oldies.  A bit of purple and smokey grey made her brown eyes mysterious and complimented her too-pale skin as Sasha finished with a light dusting of gothica white.  When she had a few minutes and a proper sink and suchlike, she’d go through and make herself up properly.

Babier hated black hair, which made her absolutely adore her dyes.  It was a shame they faded by a significant degree each time she shifted, though it had made her quite a marksman.  The boys might shift to embody the War Moon and strap a few bandoliers in place but she would always walk away in her Midnight Prada.

Kitten pulled up to the shop at approximately the same time as Sasha finished fussying with her hair.  It was a drab milky gray, though a bit of dye would fix it right up.  Unlike the rest of the women in the pride, Sasha kept her hair long ,tightly braided and coiffed.  Shye liked the locks longer, even if it did mean she didn’t quite fit.  

Zinnie and Rosetta stepped out first, followed by Andes and, finally, the king himself.  Babier unfolded from the back, his hair already brushed and groomed to perfection and his punk shirt a striking black with white print against his luxuriously golden-tan skin.  Sasha sighed, feeling her heart fall yet again.

He caught Rosetta by the shoulder and she smiled up at him as he planted a gentle kiss on her waiting lips.  Sasha felt her normal glower fall back into place and stormed over to her king, her beast feeling a jealously that seemed hollow to her human self.

Babier looked at her and she felt the scent rise off of him.  It was subtle, a tell only discernable to those who knew what to sniff for and were possessed of very keen olfactory.  She knew and was.  He wanted her.  He wanted her in a carnal, visceral way, to roll and groom and share meat with and then to mate again.  And he was good.  He could shift just small parts of himself as they went, his control and rhythm were fantastic, and he listened to her body in ways that no male ever previously had.  She caught her body as it began to draw near again and stowed her matching scent back where it belonged, chiding herself for her foolishness

“Well?”

“Have a safe trip.”  Her king handed her a folded piece of notepaper and turned to rejoin the rest.  No doubt they were waiting on Dhalia to return with an empty SUV for them to all pile into .  Levi and Benji also had bikes in town, which meant the car and most probably the trunk were crucial to this latest plan.

…

Penny went over the basics again, frowning with the effort.  Her new name was Kelly Loghorn, and yes she’d been teased about it as a child.  Her mother and father had been abusive pricks (true enough) and she’d been placed as a ward of the state (not true).  Their names were Rebecca Steinclad and John Dover, never officially married.  She’d taken classes in forensic analysis and graphic design at Clover Junior College before falling on hard times and working as an escort.  The fact that she was a virgin was a minor detail and one that, should the need arise, could quickly be taken care of, though she hadn’t seen the need to play that trick just yet.  Silver hurt real bad and she didn’t quite feel like cutting down there without a mirror.  The virus had been an STI and she hadn’t known about it until the new moon so she still had no idea who had created her.  She moved around a lot, never settling in any one city for long, and owed money to a Mr. Vorgoshtii, who had told her that working for this Big Bad fellow for a year would clear her debts.  She had no money, had been cast out by all her friends, and was just looking for a sense of family.

Great.  She was totally going to rock this assignment.

A white SUV pulled up about four spaces downwind and parked.  A woman got out of the driver’s seat and lit a cigarette, leaning against the vehicle and stretching for a few minutes before walking off to the lady’s room and snuffing her dart in a bowl of black sand designed for the purpose.  Penny hated smokers, detesting what they did to their bodies.  She mentally went back to her checklist.  Kelly Longhorn, Rebecca and John, Clover JC.  The side door on the far side of the vehicle opened and the car moved a little, indicating that the person stepping clear was most probably in the two-hundred pound range.  The windows were tinted but she could see a very masculine outline.  Mr. Vorgoshtii had lent her money.  One year.  STI, no way of knowing who done it.  Broke and alone.  Kelly Foghorn.  Rebecca and John.

The man who stepped around the front of the SUV and leaned on the bumper was gorgeous with long, thick, yellow hair flowing almost to his waist and deep blue eyes in a face that was softer but just as masculine as the movie heroes she’d grown up loving.  McClain, Terminator guy, Vin Diesel and all the other greats.  The cat inside of her liked him, too, though it was not an overwhelming thing.  She’d seen a male were-lion in lockup and her new beastie had liked him a lot more.

This one pulled sunglasses out of a breast pocket and set these on, leaning back against the hood of his van and closing his eyes as he faced the sun.  A satisfied smile creased his lips and he made a faint but definitively appreciative mmmm sound.  Penny realized, quite suddenly, that she’d been staring.  She blinked a few times and turned to the front again, wringing her hands.  This was the drop-point, which meant she was to sit here, on this very bench, until she was picked up.  She was not here to oggle some strange guy, no matter how well developed his thighs were and how perfectly his tan spread out over his skin…

“You need something?”

Oh gods, she’d been caught staring.  Mortified, Penny looked back at the parking lot.  The man chuckled and the sound raised every hair on her arms and legs.  She felt ridiculous in the high heels and short skirt.  The low cut top was fine because she also had a long jacket that she’d immediately buttoned all the way to the top, but it left her bare knees showing.  Also, it was pale blue.  She hated that it was contoured to make her seem appetizing.  Vulnerable was how she felt, so vulnerable was not the least how she wished to appear.

“No, just waiting for a friend.”

“Your name Kelly?”

Startled, Penny nodded mutely.  The man smiled, revealing sharp canines and two silver-lined incisors.  “Sweet.  Glad you take me for a friend.”

“Oh, oh yeah.”  She stood and the sleeves of this jacket fell down to cover her hands.  She was unarmed with no cell and no wires of any sort, subdermal or otherwise.  These guys were professionals in every sense of the word and she’d been informed that any indication that she was other than what she said she was would get her killed and her body discretely disposed of.

He politely stood and crossed the distance, smiling.  “I had a feeling you were she.”  He reached a hand out toward her and held it there, his body relaxed.  Under his coat hem, she saw a sidearm, its grip a mottled blue and black and its holster made of a semi-flexible kevlar.  “Name’s Andes.”

“Um, right.”  Penny stuck out her hand and tentatively touched a few fingertips to that broad palm.  “Kelly.  Kelly Longhorn.  I mean Loghorn.”  Her gaze had wandered from his gun to his crotch and she jerked her eyes up to his deep-water blues.  Not better, no, not at all better.  The blush was intrepid, venturing beyond her cheeks to her ears, neck, and forehead.  

“Well,” and his hand delicately encapsulated her own, caressing and surrounding her with warmth and finely articulated muscles, “it’s a right pleasure to make your acquaintance.”  He released her hand and kept his gaze resting on her own, which won him an almost infinite number of brownie points.  “Shall we?”

…

Andes sighed as he glanced around the cheap hotel room with its scuffed tile floors and black-smeared wallpaper.  Everything in the place was cheap and disgusting.  When it had all been brand new he had the feeling it had been tacky.  At least then it would have been clean, though.

The shower turned off he listened as the girl stepped out.  The soft ruffling sound as she awkwardly dried herself with a towel was matched by the small gasp as her hands caught what was probably the counter by the mirror made him smirk.  Aw, she was still getting used to her tell.

STI from an unknown stranger.  Gods, what a horrible way to start changing forms either willingly every few days or painfully at the end of the month.  He wondered about that; he was under the Waxing Moon, also known as the Sycophant’s Moon.  He’d been slashed open under the Warrior’s Moon, or when it was Full, so he knew first-hand that the auspice of contact had very little, if anything, to do with a favored state of shift.

As it stood, he shifted his ears back down as he heard her start crying in there.  Damn, she really wasn’t taking her new reality all that well.  Cautiously, he crossed the room and knocked softly on the bathroom door.

“Everything alright in there?”

“It’s fine.”  Defiance and anger were better than mewling helplessness.  Everyone said as much, and she’d displayed a fair bit of these in those words.  Still, Andes mused, soft and delicate and easily broken most certainly had its place.  If Babier would turn the other cheek, that place would be cuddled up right next to him under a large blanket with a bowl of popcorn and soft candle light.

Shaking himself and mentally picturing day-old roadkill to chase away the unsafe thoughts, he knocked again.  “Hey, if you wanna talk or something, being subservient means I’ve got some pretty good ears.”

“GO AWAY!!”  

Well that was clear, he thought as he backed off.  And loud.  Very unpleasant.  He turned on the television and flipped through the channels, idly watching for something interesting.  This kid was less of a gift and more of a liability.  He felt his ears mold themselves into rounded triangles and shift back on his head as his vision became just a little more washed out and crisp.  As his nose relaxed into its preferred mid-range form, elongating just a little but otherwise remaining mostly human.

Naturally, this spurred him to reign in his transformation.  The hotel was decidedly not clean.  He stood up again, feeling a little disgusting for having lain on the bed, and paced to the curtains.  It was training that kept him from flicking them open, though he could not repress the urge to press his thumb to the back of his wrist.  

Behind him, the bathroom door opened.  He’d left a full-length bathrobe for her and had already put in an order for identical clothes to the ones he’d discarded.  The lot of them were in a box down by a side street being rifled through by Dhalia and Sasha.  If there were any wires or tracers or out-of-place scents, he’d know about it right quick.  So far, it had been confirmed that Vorgoshtii had touched her arm and her breast, pinching her nipple through the fabric.  There were a few residual scents that were a bit odd, including an abundance of various soaps and perfumed cleansers, but the hour-and-a-half long shower she’d just used to test the hotel’s water heating system backed that story up just fine.

“I’m sorry I yelled.”  Gods, that voice just called to him to nurture and protect it.  He shrugged and spread his hands wide, smiling as he turned around.  He’d left his gun on a counter behind the TV as it had clearly upset her.  The poor little damsel had stared at the thing from the seat beside his for the entire trip.  He’d also ditched his tan leather and blue denim jacket in favor of just his Tee.  

“Don’t sweat it, I know I was a bit jumpy the first few months.  Hell, I can’t imagine going through that without any exposure.”  He crossed to her and put a hand on her shoulder, fixing that image of a dead racoon firmly between his eyes.  “Besides, it’s the job of us subservient males to take a fair measure of abuse.”

She looked up and her eyes were sharply quizzical even as her face was sculpted in fear.  Andes sighed and looked to the side, pointedly ignoring the shape masked beneath that full-length robe.  He might imagine her in the shower tonight before washing his Mr. Happy’s tears away, his mind informed him, but not now.  To smell of lust around one of Babier’s females was to request serious bodily harm.  To make one feel uncomfortable with leering… gods, he’d be lucky to get out of it alive.

“Subservient?”

“Yeah, so Babier is our king and we try to stay under the radar so we don’t have to leave the pride just yet.”

“Oh.  Is that why the beast, um, why she think’s you’re flawed?”

“First, ouch, my sense of dignity and class.”  Andes put a hand to his heart and took the excuse to back away from the woman.  There, two more feet of breathing room and a firm image of an imploded possum stood between her and his smaller brain.  “Second, I’m not flawed but it would be very dangerous for either her or I to be interested in each other.”

“What does a subservient male do?  I didn’t know they were a thing.”

“Pretty much all the things a lioness does, except we don’t fight with y’all.”

“So you wouldn’t hurt me?”

“Sweetheart, the only reason I’d ever do you any harm was if I feared for my life, and even then I’d do everything in my power to minimize the damage.”

“Even if I grabbed your gun?”  Her gaze flicked to the countertop and Andes smiled and shrugged.  Silver bullets, even just silver plated ones, were expensive and surprisingly easy to trace.  As long as it wasn’t a shot to the head, he could survive quite a few holes being punched into him.  The woman’s fear scent was skittering from the background to the fore and back again with alarming regularity, so perhaps she would feel a little better if she was armed.

“Can you shoot a gun?”

“I’ve been to the range a few times.”

“Then go for it.”  He smiled again, trying to be disarming, and sat in one of the chairs by the closed curtain.  Drat.  He’d been holding his thumb to his wrist again, so the boys had all heard that exchange.

There was a magazine on the table for local attractions.  Wanting to take the focus off of her, he picked this up and flipped through idly.  When he looked up again he forced himself not to startle, instead setting the magazine down calmly and leaning back in his chair with his arms resting palm up on the sides of the chair.  He kept his heart steady and, aside from that first whiff, he nullified the scent of fear his brain had been prepared to pump out in waves.

“I’d really rather you didn’t point that at my face, Darling.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I believe you’ve established this.  Mind aiming it a little lower?  Like my chest?  Still plenty of stopping power if you hit center mass.”

She was backing up, putting distance between them and reeking of fear, her arm weaving just a little as her raw human form strained first against fatigue and then against partially shifting to relieve the fatigue.  Sighing and gazing up at the ceiling, Andes hoped the call would come soon.  He relished the thought of sleeping in his own bed and without a gun pointed at his head.

Next Chapter: Home Again Home Again