Bob tried to sit up, but was roughly pushed down again. Claws the length of his hand punctured his chest, holding him in place as wide, unnaturally clear eyes glared down at him. The beast’s pointed ears, long snout, and wet nose had a vaguely canine appearance and were covered in black fur. A wide mouth filled with rows of dagger-sized teeth stretched all the way back to the base of its skull. Whenever Bob squirmed, the black creature leaned down to mash its paw a little harder against his chest. Flecks of chrome from the SUV’s bumper were snagged within the beast’s fur along with chunks of colored plastic from the headlight and turn signal.
“Get away from me,” Bob snapped in the gruffest tone he could manage. “Go on! Scat!”
The creature curled its lips and studied him carefully. If he hadn’t known any better, Bob would have sworn it was grinning at him.
Another car whipped past the SUV. When the creature turned its head toward the highway, Bob slapped at the paw on his chest and attempted to slide out from under it. His plan was to get away from whatever the hell the thing was and climb into his SUV. Even if there was a lot of damage done to the vehicle, he should be able to get to a gas station or something. He might have ripped apart the engine or every other piece of machinery under the SUV’s hood, but at least he could get away from the wolf-thing.
It was a good plan.
Unfortunately, it came up short when his fist pounded against the creature’s front paw without putting a dent into its thick, wiry fur. In response to the pathetic attempt, the creature snapped its head forward to sink its upper teeth into the meat of Bob’s shoulder and the lower set into the flabby layers of his left breast. Bob’s eyes were wide-open, but his vision was clouded by a pulsing field of dark colors. The creature’s teeth drilled down far enough to hit bone, turning Bob’s pain into a solid thing that rose up in the back of his throat to choke him into silence. As the wolf-thing dragged him away from the SUV, Bob scraped and kicked the gravelly earth. Every time he moved, the creature’s fangs tore his flesh a little more.
Bob tried to grab the creature’s face or claw at its eyes, but he only had the strength for a couple fumbling slaps before clenching his eyes shut tight enough for tears to burn out of him like kidney stones. Even when the dragging stopped, the black creature’s teeth were still in him. Straining to look up, he could see one of the beast’s crystalline eyes staring right back down at him. It wasn’t the eye of a wild animal. In fact, the thing didn’t even seem hungry. It wasn’t mauling him or tearing away pieces of meat. It simply watched.
Whenever Bob tried to squirm, the creature subtly shifted its weight or adjusted the angle of its head to keep him in place. After a few moments it lifted its paw to place it gently upon the ground next to Bob’s leg. Its lips curled up as if to let Bob know there were several more inches of fangs that could be driven into his chest if the need arose.
As the cold, clammy certainty of death seeped through him, Bob lifted a hand to grab at the creature’s eye. His hand was less than a quarter of the way there before a growl churned from within the creature that Bob could feel all the way to his fingertips. Along with that sound there came the subtle squish of hellishly long teeth being carefully eased from the pits they had dug into his flesh. The creature then twisted its head about half a degree to one side and sank its fangs in while scraping against a shoulder blade and pushing against a rib.
The wave of pain that followed was enough to take all the fight from Bob Rothbard. He slumped against the ground and let his eyes settle into a comfortable spot. A few cars roared past, but they were too far away to do him any good. Bob could no longer even see the glow of headlights. Pain had become a numb chill, which trickled into his core where it became a burning knot. His guts clenched to kick up a load of bile that rose to the back of his throat before receding.
The creature watched him carefully. When Bob went completely limp, it opened its mouth to pull the long, stalactite fangs straight out of him.
A wet sucking sound filled Bob’s ears. He couldn’t move. Blood pooled inside each wound before leaking out and spilling onto the ground.
Bob Rothbard was dying.
The creature with the black fur reared up onto hind legs that creaked like old lumber, to become longer than they’d been a few moments ago. After a few bones cracked into place, the creature was able to stand upright. Its gaping smile shrank down a bit and some of its teeth retracted into bloody gums. As its head stretched into this new form, a patch of white fur on its nose thinned out just enough to reveal a jagged scar. The creature stood like a terrible sentinel watching over its meal. All the lights from the highway or the heavens were barely strong enough to cast a glow upon its coal-black fur. When the sound of a passing truck receded, the beast knelt down to enclose both of Bob’s feet within one elongated hand.
“Wh-Why?” Bob groaned.
Although it had started dragging Bob by the legs, the creature stopped and hunkered down as if mimicking the four-legged thing it had been a few moments ago. Tall enough to lean toward Bob’s face without compromising its grip upon his feet, it lowered its round, wet nose to Bob’s wounds.
Gazing up at the creature in the same confused reverence he would give to a tornado, Bob moaned, “Why…me?”
What flashed across the creature’s face began as anger but quickly shifted into disgust.
Bob was dragged even farther away from his SUV before being set aside. From there, the creature started to scoop out handfuls of earth and toss them into the darkness. Suddenly, it stopped digging. When it found Bob curled into a sobbing ball, it became even more enraged. Thick, meaty fingers wrapped around Bob’s torso, lifted him up and slammed him down.
Bob hit the ground as if he’d been dropped from a hundred feet in the air. When the beast spoke, it was in a growl that was colored by a rough cockney accent. “Your whole filthy, noisy species are only good at two things.” The creature lifted Bob up over its head. “Breeding,” it snarled as it cracked Bob’s spine against a rock. “And whining!”
Holding onto Bob’s crushed body, the creature lifted him up so he could stare directly into the human’s glazed eyes. “Strutting and boasting when you get your way, but listen to you blubber when things take a turn you don’t like. ‘Why me?’”
When Bob Rothbard hit the rock again, his entire body conformed to its shape as if he’d been pasted onto the uneven surface.
“Why not you?”
Death came to Bob like a long-belated gift.
The creature glared at him, kicked Bob’s ample gut, and spat out a single, snuffing breath. “Now I’ll have to get another one.”
Chapter 1
Chicago, Illinois Six days later
The baton in Paige’s hand had been carved from about a foot and a half of wood, but carried the wallop of a lead pipe. Cole was all too familiar with that fact since he’d been on the receiving end of far too many wallops. He had spent the last few months training in several different aspects of hand-to-hand combat, which was basically an excuse for Paige to kick his ass once or twice after breakfast and possibly again before dinner. Although the workouts trimmed a good deal of the fat he’d collected over his last thirty-some-odd years, he collected an ever-changing pattern of bruises on his body and face.
The weapon in Cole’s hands was a short spear carved from a bowed piece of wood. One end was sharpened down to a point and the other was split into two smaller points that resembled a forked tongue. Although the weapon was only slightly thicker than a broomstick, a varnish made from shapeshifter blood, vampire saliva, and God knows what else kept it from breaking or even chipping no matter how many times it was struck. Not only did the varnish petrify the wood, it also bonded the weapon to the person who wielded it. The connection between Skinners and their weapon was made by thorns crafted into the weapon’s grip, which were treated with another paste that healed the wounds they made. They still hurt like hell.