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Robert M. Kerns

Copyright © 2021 by Robert M. Kerns

Cover Copyright © 2021 Dolton Richards / Knightsfall Press

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means--electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise--without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any place (terrestrial, exta-solar, extra-dimensional, or other) or person (human, Magi, shifter, fae, sapient undead, or other) is unintended and purely coincidental.

Published by Knightsfall Press

PO Box 280

Mineral Wells, WV 26150

About This Book

A hapless hiker. A rogue cougar. An outcome no one expected.

Wyatt took a dead-end job in his hometown for two reasons: hiking, and being close to his family. When trekking over the trails he loves, he comes face to face with a cougar he cannot avoid.

As the pre-eminent hunter for the Shifter Nations of North America, Gabrielle isn't surprised when the Shifter Council calls her. A rogue cougar has been killing hikers. The job: put the beast down, and do it fast. She has never failed a hunt.

The trail leads her to the site of a fierce, bloody battle. She finds a wounded hiker, a dead cougar, and one inescapable conclusion.

There's a new cat in town.

1

A cool breeze rustled the leaves of the surrounding trees, tugged at my clothes and brushed my face to say hello as it made its way on down the valley. The breeze smelled of pine, spruce, and a fresh rain. I always loved the smell of a forest after a good rainstorm. That’s why I took the day off from work to go hiking.

I stepped out of the partial shade created by the tree cover and stood on the rock shelf I knew so well. It overlooked the valley sprawling below me, and like so many times before, the sheer magnificence of nature lightened my soul. I eased my backpack’s straps off my shoulders and removed the belt carrying my grandfather’s knife, because the knife’s length was such that it jabbed its pommel into my ribs when I sat on the ground. In form, it resembled the Bowie knife, but the strange markings engraved into the blade gave it an almost sinister character. Grandpa always told me those engravings were magic runes, but I’d seen nothing to make me believe that, of course. Magic—like Santa Claus—didn’t exist. I slid the sheathed knife through the carry handle of my backpack and returned my attention to the vista before me.

There was no explaining the complete and total peace this place inspired in me, and it was because of this very trail—more than any other reason—that I refused to leave the dead-end tech job at a company that forgot to pay me as often as not. This valley was home. It was where I belonged.

I don’t know how long I sat there. Well… not precisely. The sun warmed my back when I sat, and it glared in my eyes and heated my chest when I stood. So several hours at least. I would have stayed, but I still wanted to reach the small lake at the end of the trail and make it back to my car by nightfall. As much as I loved this trail and the surrounding woods, there was a reason it didn’t have any campsites. Weird stuff happened in this stretch of the national forest. The stories dated back beyond when my grandfather had been a little boy. He said those stories were why he gave me the knife and made me promise to carry it whenever I hiked this trail.

I stretched one more time, rolling my shoulders and twisting from side to side. I wasn’t as young as I used to be, and my body was stiff from sitting on the rock shelf for so long. I guess the human body really was made to move.

A rustle in the underbrush behind me drew my attention as I leaned over to grab my backpack. I could tell something stalked just out of sight, but there wasn’t enough of a gap in the foliage to see what. Unfortunately, I didn’t have to wonder long. A massive mountain lion stepped onto the edge of the rock shelf, looking right at me. Both of us froze. Well… I froze. The mountain lion just stopped. What struck me most were its eyes. In all my years volunteering at nearby zoos and animal hospitals or rescues, I had never seen a mountain lion that carried such intelligence in its gaze. I tried to angle myself to put my back toward the trail I’d just hiked and took a half-step backward, giving the big cat a little more space. It complemented my movement with a half-step of its own, and what’s more, it bared its teeth in a silent snarl.

I bit back a sigh. This would not end well.

Gabrielle barely swallowed a snarl as she led her team through the national forest. They were tracking a rogue cougar, and he’d already killed ten people so far. She was the best hunter for the job—the best hunter period full stop—and a part of her seethed that the Shifter Council hadn’t given her this task when the toxicology report came back on the first person mauled to death. The rogue cougar stalking the national forest was a shifter, and no human hunting party from the Forest Service had any hope of finding him, let alone dealing with him. Not unless they fielded the better part of a battalion to get the job done.

The sole bright spot in the cougar’s rampage was that he killed his victims. Shifters—like vampires—could turn humans into shifters. A turned shifter was never as powerful as a born shifter, with a few exceptions so rare they were almost fables, but they still made humans seem like weak, undeveloped children in comparison. If life had existed in any of the victims—even the minutest sliver of life—they’d now have ten new cougars on their hands… and if whatever drove the rogue in its slaughter was a sickness, he could pass that sickness to anyone he turned.

She spied tracks in a stretch of mud that was still damp from the recent rain, and Gabrielle stopped and knelt. The stride here was closer to a walk, and by the far end of the mud, the stride looked closer to a stalk. Gabrielle glared at the tracks for just a moment. Then, she closed her eyes and reached out to the part of her that wasn’t human… and never had been.

The wind had shifted at some point. It no longer drifted down the valley. Now, it blew into their faces, and there was… something. She identified the normal scents of the forest and set them aside. There was something there, but she was too limited in human form to identify it. A very feline-like huff escaped her.

So be it. There was more than one way to chase a cat.

“Hey,” Gabrielle said, as she pushed herself back to her feet. The other members of her team all turned to her. “I’m going over behind that big oak to shift. There’s something on the wind. Bring my pack, please, and try to keep up.”

Nods and affirmative vocalizations came back to her, and she nodded once. She turned and made her way to the large oak tree that was more than sufficient to grant her some privacy. She never understood why all the humans writing shifter fiction just seemed to assume shifters would take a casual approach to nudity. Sure, sometimes one didn’t have other options, but no shifter she’d ever met liked to walk around naked as the day they were born.

It was a quick task to strip and stuff her clothes into her pack, tying her boots to a convenient carabiner she kept for such an occasion. Then it was a simple matter to touch the part of her mind that had never been human, for unlike a couple of people in her party, Gabrielle was a born shifter.

The change was also unlike most shifter fiction depicted. Everyone seemed to think it would hurt… or the human would just wink out and the animal would appear. But for Gabrielle it was neither uncomfortable nor immediate, and every born shifter she asked described an experience like hers. The change was as normal as standing up, sitting down, or walking across a room. Yes, she felt her physical form shifting. Her limbs shortened. Her muzzle elongated. But there was no pain. There was no discomfort. In fact, there were times it felt like she was coming home, becoming the truest version of herself.

The change complete, Gabrielle enjoyed a moment to luxuriate in her form. Stretch all four legs. Flex her claws. Lash her tail. She only took a couple of heartbeats, though. She had an important task.

Cats did not have the same quality of olfactory sense that canines do, but cats weren’t exactly nose-blind, either. She opened her mouth and took a slow, deep breath, drawing the air across the roof of her mouth. She closed her eyes and concentrated. A second breath. The forest was normal, not important. She didn’t care about the scent of pine or mint or spruce. The cougar’s scent was faint, hours old but still recent enough to identify. And there it was. Human. The cougar had new prey.

Gabrielle hoped she would be in time as she darted out from behind the oak.

It was always an experience hunting with Gabrielle. Almost every predator shifter was a natural hunter, but Gabrielle was in a class by herself. She held several medals and titles from various shifter hunting games or contests. Several of her hunting party turned toward the tree as a four-legged shadow shot across the track they’d been following and disappeared into the forest’s undergrowth.

A melanistic jaguar. One type of the so-called black panther. Gabrielle.

One of the veteran hunters stared at the patch of foliage where the jaguar vanished and sighed. He muttered, “Keep up, my ass,” even though every shifter around him heard it with ease. Then, at a normal volume, “Well, gang… we just became the clean-up crew.”

My arms ached. I just finished the third run-through of all the ways they say to drive away a mountain lion. On the bright side, it wasn’t snarling at me anymore, but I’d swear the thing was smiling at me. Like I was funny. Like it knew what I was doing and why… but didn’t care. I took a half-step backward while waving my arms. I knew my backpack was behind me somewhere, and Grandpa’s knife could mean the difference between being a survivor or cat chow.

Then, the scariest thing yet occurred. I watched the mountain lion shift its gaze from me to something behind me. Its eyes seemed to narrow, almost like it glared at the object of its focus, and then it shifted its eyes back up to mine. In that moment, I knew it wasn’t just looking toward me. It stared directly into my eyes. The snarl came back with more force, and it made a standing lunge.

Oh shit.

The cat’s forepaws hit my chest, and its weight and momentum drove me to the ground. My head struck the butt of my grandpa’s knife and continued down to slam into the rock shelf. The mountain lion screamed and came in to rip out my throat, but I jammed my left forearm between its jaws. Yeah, I know… stupid move, but I could survive a broken or amputated arm. I haven’t known the human yet that could survive a ripped-out throat.

Not content with gnawing on my arm, the mountain lion shredded my jacket and shirt with its claws. It wasn’t long until those claws found my torso, and I let out a scream of my own. Panic tried to set in, and I struck the mountain lion’s neck with my right fist while it continued to maul me. I felt the claws rake across my bones, and I knew I wasn’t leaving this rock shelf alive. But that didn’t mean this cat wouldn’t earn it.

Beating the thing’s neck wasn’t making any headway, and as I tried controlling the cat’s head with my forearm it was gnawing on, I figured why not? With all the panicked force I could muster, I drove the toe of my hiking boot between the cat’s hind legs. It rewarded me with a pain-fueled scream and jumped back. Yeah… I don’t care what species of mammal you are, no male enjoys getting kicked in the balls.

The pause in the fight gave me the few necessary heartbeats to grab my grandpa’s knife, open the retaining strap, and flick the sheath into the underbrush. Since I still figured I wasn’t living through this fight, I didn’t really care what happened to the knife’s sheath… as long as I had the knife.

I brought the blade around, and the movement drew the cat’s focus. It snarled at the sight of the knife. I glanced at it myself and gaped. Those engraved runes on the knife’s blade glowed with an eerie silver radiance. Well, damn… I guess the runes were magic after all.

For what felt like the longest time, the big cat just stared at me, its eyes shifting from me to the knife and back again. I would’ve sworn it recognized the knife and was gauging its chances. As I grew weaker with blood loss, it must’ve decided its chances were still good, because it returned its eyes to mine and lunged at me.

The pain of wedging my savaged left forearm between its jaws again drowned out any remnant of the agony I felt merely lifting my arm into position. But I didn’t care. If I was going down, I wanted to do everything I could to take this cat with me.

I thrust the knife toward the cat’s side, expecting I’d have to force it through its hide and muscles and tissue. The moment the tip of the blade touched the cat, that eerie radiance flared, and the knife slipped inside with almost no resistance at all. The cat screamed around my forearm, much louder and much more anguished than when I’d kicked it, and it redoubled its efforts to kill me just as I redoubled my own.

Stab after stab. Claw swipe after claw swipe. Our reason for existing came down to ending this fight and taking the other with us. I regretted not taking Biology now. Several stabs in, and I still hadn’t found the damn cat’s heart. It breathed heavy and labored, though, so I hoped I’d at least punctured a lung. But still, it wouldn’t let go.

It wasn’t long before my strength waned. Darkness rimmed my vision. I was dying. I could feel it. The oddest part was the sudden clarity. The lack of panic. Well, damn. I had a knife, and the cat had a throat. I picked a point as close to halfway between the cat’s jaws and its shoulders as I could and raked my blade across its throat. Blood erupted from the gash and threatened to drown me in the deluge.

Now, the fight left the mountain lion. Finally. I used its collapse as its own strength waned to push it to my side. If I had to die, I didn’t want to die buried under a massive cat corpse. Something about that just seemed like adding insult to injury.

My last thought as the world faded around me was that, at least, the mountain lion would harm no one else. I heard my knife striking the rock shelf, and then there was nothing.

Gabrielle ran at a pace she could maintain for miles; she didn’t want to face the rogue fatigued after a long sprint. She heard the cougar’s screams, and she smelled the blood in the air. She wanted to believe she might still arrive in time, but in her heart, she knew she was too late.

She broke through the foliage onto a rock shelf and almost skidded to a stop. The scene was gruesome. A cougar with multiple stab wounds to its torso and a vicious slash across its throat lay beside a man with a shredded chest and mangled arm. Blood drenched the man, and a smaller pool formed around the cougar’s corpse.

Something about the scene felt wrong. No shifter would die of the wounds she could see on the cougar. Yes, a throat slash would take a shifter out of the fight, but unless you followed up with a beheading or used a shifter-bane weapon, the shifter would heal. The cougar’s wounds showed no sign of healing, and the man… oh, shit. The man’s wounds were closing. He was still alive.

Her eyes fell on the knife laying just outside the man’s right hand, and she padded closer for a better view. When she saw the runes in the blade, she hissed and almost jumped back. It was a shifter-bane blade. But the man couldn’t be Magi. Shifters couldn’t turn Magi; they were not technically human.

She moved closer, low and slow. Stalking the blade as if it were alive. Reaching a vantage point for the crossguard, she saw what she sought. The blade’s artisan stamped the family mark into the blade just below the crossguard, and for the first time in a long while, Gabrielle felt true terror. That family mark was the Magnusson Glyph. The Magnusson clan was old, old power… ancient, even. No one really knew how far back their family went. This man—whoever else he might be—was Connor Magnusson’s family.

Shit. This would not end well.

2

Alistair Cooper sat at his desk. He savored the French vanilla aroma wafting through the space; it was just strong enough to enjoy without overpowering his wolf-shifter senses. He never waded into the mind-numbing drudgery the Shifter Council called reports without putting a fresh candle in the warmer. Only a small sliver of the stack remained when the sound of voices raised in heated exchange overpowered the crackling of the paper in his hands. He recognized Gabrielle’s voice almost at once and returned the form that had been his focus to its stack. Then, he cleared his desk of anything throw-able or flammable or otherwise spoilable and leaned back against his chair to wait.

“I don’t care what family the kid’s from,” a man’s voice said, muffled slightly by the thick oak door. “We should have killed him.”

“Dammit, Jack! How stupid are you? Do you honestly think Connor Magnusson would just accept that his family-member disappeared in the national forest?” Gabrielle shot back.

Wham! Wham! The impact of what sounded like a clenched fist on the outside of his office door seemed just high enough for Gabrielle’s shoulder. Jack Hastings, the other veteran hunter he’d sent with the team, was almost a full foot taller.

“Welcome back, Gabrielle,” Alistair said, loud enough for her to hear him. “Do come in.”

The oaken door swung open on silent hinges, and Gabrielle strode inside. Her steady, relentless gait brought back memories of Patton’s forced march to Bastogne. Jack closed the door behind him and followed her, stopping at her side.

“All right, you two,” Alistair said. “Let’s take a moment to step back and regain our calm.”

Jack bowed his head and closed his eyes, while Alistair watched Gabrielle continue to glare at Jack. Once or twice, he saw her pupils shift to vertical slits, a testament to her fury if she needed so much effort to keep her human form. After a few seconds of Gabrielle not calming at all, Alistair swallowed a sigh.

“Very well. One of you, tell me what this is all about,” Alistair said. “I heard you a few seconds before you… ahem… knocked.”

Jack’s head shot up, and he said, “We weren’t able to catch the cougar before he claimed another victim, but this victim killed the cougar without dying. Gabrielle insisted on bringing him back here to the infirmary when we should have just finished him.”

Alistair nodded. “I see. And how does Connor Magnusson fit into this?”

“I’m as certain as I can be that the victim is Magnusson’s family,” Gabrielle answered. “He used a shifter-bane blade with the Magnusson glyph to kill the rogue.”

Alistair gave a few slow nods, then pierced Jack with his gaze. “And why were you advocating killing him, Jack?”

“We don’t need another crazy mountain lion, Alistair. I don’t care what family he’s from. I don’t see how we can take the chance the rogue’s madness wasn’t a sickness.”

Alistair worked his lower lip between his teeth, bringing his eyes back to his desk. No matter how he turned the matter over in his mind, there didn’t seem to be a ‘right’ answer. Yes, there was a truce between the Magi and the shifters, but that truce was uneasy. Very uneasy. It was only a dozen years old, plus or minus, and that didn’t even equate to a blink of the eye for either side.

“And you’re certain the cougar turned the boy, and it wasn’t just a regeneration charm or something like it?” Alistair asked, looking to Gabrielle.

She shook her head. “The cougar turned him, Alistair. By the time we made it back here, he already smelled like a shifter.”

“Another mountain lion in our ranks,” Alistair grunted.

“No, sir,” Gabrielle countered. “I don’t think so. His scent isn’t like any mountain lion I’ve ever tracked.”

Alistair’s eyebrows quirked upward. “It isn’t?”

Gabrielle shook her head. “He’s definitely a feline shifter. I just can’t tell what breed. I’ve never encountered a feline shifter with his scent before.”

Alistair felt a pit forming in his gut. If Gabrielle couldn’t recognize his scent, the scent was still in flux, or… no. There was no way—no way at all—that he could be a primogenitor. Primogenitor shifters were beyond rare, and they most often occurred in the more prevalent shifter lines… like the wolves. Alistair could think of only two dire wolf shifters in the world, but he’d never heard of the cats producing a primogenitor.

“Yes… well, I’m sure his scent is still in flux,” Alistair remarked. “We have that sometimes with turned shifters. I’ve also come to agree with your decision, Gabrielle. I see no outcome from us killing Connor Magnusson’s family that isn’t bad, whereas allowing him to live just might prove beneficial in the long run.”

“Okay, fine. Junior gets to live,” Jack growled, “but that still doesn’t excuse Gabrielle from securing that vile blade with the possessions we recovered. We should destroy that blade now… while we have the chance.”

Gabrielle resumed her glare at Jack. “For all your skills as a hunter, you’re still an idiot, Jack. Just how do you think it would play out when he goes to visit Connor and tells him that he lost the blade? Or better yet, that his new shifter friends destroyed it before he woke up? Are you trying to get us killed? And beyond that, just how do you propose we touch the thing to destroy it, anyway? Sure… bane weapons should only harm their targets when used, not simply carried, but do you really want to risk it?”

Alistair fought to maintain his non-expression. He found Gabrielle’s passionate assault on Jack’s statement far too enjoyable. He cleared his throat and said, “We’ll leave what to do with the blade up to the young man. I can’t imagine he’d want to keep it, but he might want to return it to his grandfather once he understands both its nature and his. Is there anything else?”

Jack looked like he still wanted to argue his case, but he clenched his jaw and shook his head.

Gabrielle shook her head, saying, “No, sir. Thank you.”

“Thank you both,” Alistair said, nodding once to signal his dismissal.

Both Jack and Gabrielle returned his nod, then pivoted and left his office. Alistair waited until he heard the door latch to heave a sigh, and his thoughts drifted to an ancient Chinese curse: May you live in interesting times. There was no doubt in his mind the coming weeks—perhaps even the coming months—would be very interesting.

Damn, I’m sore. When I woke up, the first thought in my mind was how my entire body ached. Wait… I thought I was dying. Aw, damn. There’s no way I’m dead; I cannot believe the afterlife smells like that nasty hospital disinfectant when it’s not diluted enough. Holy cow… did they dunk me in a tub of the stuff?

I tried opening my eyes, and for the first moment or so, all I could do was blink. It was all so bright… and white. The ceiling tiles, the curtain surrounding my bed. Everything I could see was a bright white. I felt like I’d been lying down too long, and I wanted to sit up at least. I didn’t feel like I had an IV or anything like that, but I still checked myself just to be sure. Nope. Nothing.

I pushed back the covers and swung my feet over the side of the bed. The world spun around me when I rolled myself into a sitting position. It settled down after a few moments of light-headed weaving, and I looked around my space. My backpack leaned against the wall beside the head of my bed. Ah, ha. There we go.

Even though I should probably have waited to speak with a doctor, I didn’t feel bad per se, beyond the world spinning like a top for a heartbeat or three. And since I’d never been one for hospitals, it was time to expedite my departure. I had to get back to my sucky job, if nothing else.

I moved from sitting on the edge of the bed to standing without the world spinning again, and I took the couple steps necessary to reach my backpack. I felt a wave of unsteadiness pass through me as I leaned over to pick up my pack, but I pressed my hand against the wall for support. I lifted my pack to the bed and withdrew the extra set of clothes I always carried when hiking. Because you know, life happens. I thought it odd that my grandpa’s knife was inside my pack, in its sheath with the belt wrapped around it, but I already had enough weird things to think about. I’d save that one for later.

In short order, I whisked off the awful hospital gown and started getting dressed. By the time I finished buttoning up my shirt, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my clothes didn’t feel right. It was odd, and I couldn’t really explain it. I pushed it to the back of my mind to be something else I’d examine later.

My hiking boots awaited me on the floor by the foot of the bed, and flecks of dried blood now dotted them. I lifted them to my nose and took a quick sniff. Yep… that’s blood, all right. Well, nothing for it. I needed shoes, and the insides of the boots didn’t look bad. I’d wear them out of here—wherever here is—and replace them later.

I was lacing up the second boot when I heard a woman’s voice.

“Hiya, doc! How’s your newest patient?”

“Hello, Gabrielle,” a man replied, his voice carrying the hint of a New England accent and sounding resigned. “He was still sleeping, the last I checked, but you’re welcome to see for yourself.”

Before I could react, a shadow approached the curtains surrounding my bed, and I watched two arms reach up and pull the curtains back. The woman had a dark complexion, and she gaped at me sitting on the bed and lacing up my boot. Maybe eastern Mediterranean or Middle Eastern?

“Uh, doc? He’s not sleeping anymore,” she said.

“He isn’t?” The man replied, and footfalls preceded a middle-aged man arriving at the woman’s side. Wavy, snow white hair covered his head, and he wore the classic white lab coat. I watched his eyes take in the whole of me, moving from my head to my feet and back before he remarked, “No, it seems he isn’t. How do you feel, young man?”

I shrugged. I couldn’t help it. “Okay, I guess. I mean, I feel sore all over, but it’s no worse than after a long hike. Except it seems like everything aches, not just my muscles. My head swam a little when I first sat up, but that only happened the one time.”

The HVAC system kicked on and delivered faint food smells within seconds. I realized I was starving as my stomach rumbled so loud it sounded like a kitchen disposal. Both the woman—Gabrielle, apparently—and the doctor looked at my stomach. Gabrielle grinned.

“I believe it would be good to get our patient some food,” the doctor remarked.

Gabrielle turned to the doctor, lifting an eyebrow. “Our patient?”

The doctor looked at Gabrielle and smiled. “Excellent. I knew I could count on you." He turned back to me, saying, “If you develop any new symptoms, come back. Gabrielle can explain everything else.”

“Now, wait a minute, Doc!" Gabrielle protested. “Since when did I become the orientation staff?”

The doctor smiled again and add a shrug. “Eh… why not?”

Then he turned and ambled over to his desk.

Gabrielle glared at the man for a moment before turning back to her newest charge. She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Gabrielle, though you probably caught that.”

I smiled and accepted her hand. Our handshake was firm. It wasn’t a crush contest, but it wasn’t a limp-wristed affair, either. “It’s nice to meet you, Gabrielle. I’m Wyatt Magnusson.”

Gabrielle nodded. We ended our handshake by unspoken mutual assent. She turned and started walking toward the door, asking, “You any relation to Connor Magnusson?”

“He’s my grandfather,” I said, adding a nod as I picked up my pack by its carry handle. “Have you met him?”

Gabrielle shook her head. “No. I only know of him, but ‘Magnusson’ isn’t such a common name.”

I grinned. “No, it isn’t.”

Gabrielle led me down a short hallway, around a corner, and through a door. We left the building, and I found myself on what looked like the main street of a small country town. Moving from inside to outdoors gave the sun a splendid opportunity to assault my eyes, and the food smells were stronger than ever. My stomach growled again. A general store stood straight across the street from us, and just to the left of it, I saw a diner.

“Welcome to Precious,” Gabrielle said as we crossed the street. Even at mid-morning—judging by the sun—the street wasn’t too busy.

I blinked. “I’ve heard of this town. We’re about an hour from where I live.”

Gabrielle nodded. “I led a hunting party tasked with locating and eliminating the rogue cougar, and when we found you, we brought you back here.”

That brought it all back to me in a rush. Sitting on the rock shelf. The attack. The desperate fight just to take the big cat with me into death.

“So, Gabrielle… how am I alive? That mountain lion shredded my chest and possibly broke my arm. I don’t understand how I’m up and walking around. I don’t even know what day it is.”

Gabrielle stepped onto the sidewalk and stopped. She turned to face me, and her expression informed me there was a serious and potentially unpleasant topic awaiting me.

“Look, Wyatt… there’s some stuff we need to discuss. It won’t be easy, and I don’t want to discuss it with you on an empty stomach. As long as your stomach growls like it has been, you won’t be able to focus on anything else. It’s not horrible or anything, really; it’s… it’s just a life-changing discussion that requires your focus. Okay?”

Well, damn. That wasn’t ominous or anything. But she was right; the main thing on my mind was food. I nodded. “Good call. Let’s eat, then talk.”

Gabrielle led me into the diner, and I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. The dining area was immense. It was like someone took a military mess hall or large high school cafeteria and built a bar and kitchen onto one side of it. People occupied many tables, and as we stepped through the door, the buzz of conversation faded to silence as everyone stared at us. Or rather… me.

The silence extended, became awkward. A great hulking brute of a man stood from a table about halfway into the room and approached us. He had to be six and a half feet tall if he was an inch, and he was one of those guys whose muscles had muscles. The underlying arrogance of his expression and swagger reminded me of all those asshole jocks in school that loved to push around anyone weaker than they were.

“What do you think you’re doing in here?" He stopped about ten feet away. “You don’t belong here.”

It sounded like Gabrielle growled as she stepped forward. “Not now, Buddy. He needs food, and we don’t—”

“Stow it, Gabby,” the brute shot back, adding a growl of his own. He reached out, planted his right hand on Gabrielle’s right shoulder, and casually threw her aside.

I watched Gabrielle stagger a half-step and go down. She scattered a couple tables. Her head struck the edge of one before cracking off the floor. The scent of blood hit me.

3

Being shoved aside pissed off Gabrielle more than anything else. Yeah, the edge of a table drew a little blood, but with shifter healing, her ‘injuries’ didn’t even reach the level of paper cuts. She wanted nothing more than to jump to her feet and drag Buddy Carrington outside for a proper ass-kicking, and she pushed herself back to her feet. But no matter how fast she might have been, she was already too late.

In an explosion of fabric and other materials, Wyatt Magnusson experienced his first shift, and Gabrielle’s mind locked at what she saw. Four thick legs the size of tree stumps ended in paws the size of dinner plates, if not larger. A stubby tail reaching not quite half the length of his hind legs. Sandy blond fur like a lion with darker tawny stripes. A massive muscled body standing four feet tall at the shoulder. And long curved canine teeth that descended at least four inches from his upper jaw and tapered to needle-sharp points. Wyatt Magnusson was the first feline primogenitor Gabrielle had ever heard of… and he was a Smilodon.

Before Gabrielle could even begin diffusing the situation, Wyatt lunged at Buddy and took him down to the floor, placing a massive paw on Buddy’s sternum. The crashing clatter of tables and chairs scattering like bowling pins filled the diner. Wyatt’s muzzle was less than eight inches from Buddy’s face when he roared his rage, rattling windows and dinnerware as he flooded the diner with a suffocating burst of alpha dominance.

Buddy pissed himself on the spot… and not just a tiny leak. Buddy Carrington—one of the most dominant non-alpha shifters in town—full-on fear-peed. Scents from around the room told Gabrielle he wasn’t the only one.

For one moment of weakness, Gabrielle wanted to remain where she was and watch how the situation unfolded. Buddy was an over-muscled bully, and only the other over-muscled bullies in town liked him. But they needed every shifter… even the assholes. She rolled to a crouch and stood, approaching Wyatt from his left side. He still stood over Buddy with his right forepaw on the man’s chest, and once she had a better vantage point, she saw Wyatt flexed his claws just enough to pierce Buddy’s skin like five large-gauge needles.

Wyatt didn’t react to her arrival at his side, so Gabrielle reached out to his shoulder. She couldn’t help smiling at the touch of his fur. It was coarse and bristly, like an Irish wolfhound’s coat. At her touch, Wyatt’s growl and snarl faded, and he turned his massive head toward her. Gabrielle stepped back to stand in front of Wyatt, but to the right of Buddy.

“Wyatt, it’s okay. I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.”

Wyatt’s jaw worked as if he spoke, but the only sounds that came out were deep-toned mixtures of meows and rawrs. Gabrielle fought the urge to snicker; he sounded like a baritone house cat. But he conveyed questioning concern.

“Wyatt, you can’t speak human languages when you’re shifted, but yes, I’m fine. I’m not even bleeding anymore.”

Wyatt looked at Buddy and growled. It sounded like a massive engine with aggressive glass packs in its exhaust. Buddy paled, and a minor part of Gabrielle enjoyed it.

“Yes, I know,” Gabrielle said. “He’s an over-muscled asshole with too much testosterone, but as much as I hate to say it, he has his uses. You don’t need to hurt him any further.”

Wyatt looked up at her again and rawr-ed a question.

Gabrielle nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. So… you ready to shift back?”

Wyatt bobbed a nod.

“Focus on that part of your mind that still feels human. It’s just like moving your legs to walk. Just decide you’re going to shift.”

It took a few seconds—maybe a minute—but soon, a naked man kneeled over Buddy with a hand on Buddy’s chest. Wyatt stood, but when Buddy moved to stand, Wyatt placed his bare foot on the man’s chest and glared at him.

“If you ever cause harm to another soul that isn’t in self-defense or defense of another,” Wyatt said, his voice cold and implacable, “I will rip off your head and give it to someone to use as a chamber pot. Do you understand?”

Buddy jerked a choppy nod.

Wyatt’s gaze hardened. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I understand.” Buddy’s voice carried none of his normal arrogance. In fact, it sounded a little shaky.

Wyatt nodded. “Forget this moment at your peril.”

Before the ensuing silence became awkward, Gabrielle touched Wyatt’s bicep. “Come on, big guy. Let’s go next door and get you some clothes. Buddy needs a shower and a change of clothes, too.”

“No,” Wyatt replied, shaking his head. “He can shower and change clothes right before bed.”

Gabrielle gaped. “But everyone will know…”

Wyatt turned to meet her shocked gaze. “I sort of figured that.”

Without another word, Wyatt pivoted on his heel and looked down at the destroyed remains of his clothes. He heaved a small sigh, kneeling to clean up the mess he’d made.

In seconds, a woman Wyatt didn’t know arrived at his side. Her voice carried hints of kindness and gratitude as she said, “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I have this broom right here. You just get whatever you need and leave the mess to me.”

“That’s not fair to you,” Wyatt replied. “You shouldn’t have to clean up after me.”

The woman smiled. “Think nothing of it. Buddy and his crowd have a tendency to run roughshod over anyone who can’t stand up to them, so consider this my thank you for what you did.”

Wyatt slipped his wallet, keys, and phone into the water bottle pocket of his backpack and lifted the pack by its carry handle as he stood. He regarded Buddy, who was only now beginning to stand, and Gabrielle wanted to groan at the look on Wyatt’s face.

“So, he makes a habit of being a bully?” Wyatt asked.

It took all of Gabrielle’s willpower to keep from wincing. Seriously? She just stopped Wyatt from ripping Buddy a new orifice. Why couldn’t Gladys keep her mouth shut?

Buddy was on his feet now, and he lifted his hands up like he was surrendering. His expression made it clear that he knew he was on thin ice with Wyatt.

“Oh, yeah,” Gladys replied. Her tone casual, matter of fact. “He’s been pushing people around ever since he hit puberty. He doesn’t even listen to Sheriff Clyde, and those idiots that hang around him—acting like they all want to hump his leg—aren’t any better.”

Wyatt’s eyes flicked to Buddy’s table and the five or six people still seated there, and in the silence that descended on the diner, it seemed like even the physical building wanted to gasp, “Oh, shit… this will hurt.”

Wyatt shifted his pack to his left hand and held out his right to the woman. “I’m Wyatt.”

“Gladys,” she replied, shaking his hand.

“Gladys, I figure I’ll be around for a few days, getting a handle on how I’ve changed,” Wyatt said. “I’d appreciate you finding me if you hear that any of them are acting out.”

The high-pitched squeal of tables and chairs sliding across the tile floor filled the diner as everyone around Buddy’s table put some distance between themselves and Buddy’s crew.

Gladys beamed. “Well, I surely will, Wyatt. Thank you.”

Wyatt looked to Gabrielle. “So, we’re going to the general store?”

Gabrielle nodded.

“Okay,” Wyatt said and pivoted, walking out the door.

I held it together long enough to walk beyond the diner’s windows, but when I reached the building’s corner, I stepped into the space between it and the general store, dropped my pack, leaned against the wall, and put my face in my hands.

What the hell happened to me? I have never been someone to force submission like that. I made that guy pee himself out of fear, like he was some tiny lapdog.

I heard footfalls on my right just before Gabrielle said, “Hey, there. You all right?”

I pulled my hands away from my face. Something inside me tried to make myself stand straight, present a commanding presence even in the buff, but I pushed whatever it was aside.

“Yeah, I guess… but no, I’m not. I mean, I’m not hurt. I’m not in pain or discomfort or anything like that, but my mind is spinning right now. Where the hell did that come from in there? I almost didn’t recognize myself when I faced down that guy, because that wasn’t me. I’m the quiet, geeky kid.”

“I told you we needed to talk,” Gabrielle replied, “but I don’t feel so bad about not recognizing your scent anymore. You’re the first Smilodon shifter I’ve ever met. Come on. Let’s at least get you some clothes, so nothing’s swinging in the breeze.”

Her eyes and the slight curve of her mouth told me she aimed for a joke. It was a little funny, and I couldn’t keep from chuckling. I leaned far enough to grab the carry handle for my backpack and fell in beside Gabrielle. The thought occurred to me I could use the pack to cover myself, for the time being, and by the time we entered the store, I was kind of calm.

A bell jingled as Gabrielle opened the door, and I smiled at the sight of an honest-to-goodness, small-town general store. There was a clothing section, a hardware section… pretty much anything you’d expect in a dry goods store.

“Afternoon, Hank,” Gabrielle said. “Wyatt, here, just experienced his first shift and destroyed his clothes. We hoped you could help him.”

Hank looked somewhere around early middle age. The hair over his ears had a few wisps of gray, and the top of his head was bald. He wore a checkered shirt with suspenders and what looked like garters to keep his sleeves away from his hands and wrists.

“I sure can, Miss Gabrielle,” Hank replied. “I’ll just need your sizes, sir. You don’t look like you’ll need something in a size I don’t carry, but proper sizes will ensure a suitable fit.”

Wyatt wanted to shrug. “Uhm… the clothes I shredded pretty much fit, but they felt off a little. Any chance we could do some measurements? I don’t think the sizes I know are one-hundred-percent correct anymore.”

Hank gave a reassuring nod. “Of course, young man. It’s very common for a person’s measurements to change after they’ve become shifters. The changes a person’s body undergoes takes what’s there and optimizes it.”

“You still hungry?” Gabrielle asked.

I nodded. “I feel like I could eat ten or twelve triple cheeseburgers.”

“While Hank’s getting you set up, I’ll go back to the diner and get them started on our food. How do you like your steak?”

I meant to say ‘well done’ out of reflex, because I ate no meat that wasn’t. But I didn’t say that. “Make sure it’s not mooing” came out of my mouth instead.

Gabrielle grinned. “Sorta figured, but I wanted to be sure. Meet you back there when you’re finished here?”

“Sounds good, and thanks.”

Gabrielle waved and left me in Hank’s expert care.

We spent maybe thirty minutes taking measurements and selecting three sets of clothes. What I didn’t wear, I folded and stuffed in my hiking pack. I couldn’t remember the exact amount left in my checking account, so I used a card my grandpa gave me for emergencies. I figured I’d pay him back across a few paychecks. When Hank handed me the receipt, he also gave me a small card that had my new measurements written on it. Talk about customer service.

“Thank you for the measurements and the card, sir,” I said, hefting my now-heavy pack. “I appreciate it.”

“It’s been a pleasure doing business, and I always take care of my customers, sir.”

I smiled. “Please, call me Wyatt.”

He extended his hand to me. “Only if you call me Hank.”

“Thanks again, Hank. I hope you have an excellent day.” I gave him a proper handshake and left the store.

The first thing Gabrielle noticed when she returned to the diner was the absence of Buddy and his gang of bullies. It was probably just as well. She didn’t think they would have wanted to remain in the diner after Wyatt came back, and she knew they wouldn’t have wanted to walk past him to leave. Gabrielle selected a vacant table, and Gladys was at her side before she even had her chair ready.

“So, where did you find him?” Gladys asked.

Gabrielle frowned. “Who? You mean Wyatt?”

“Duh… of course, I mean Wyatt. He’s not from around here, is he?”

Gabrielle fought the urge to sigh. She never wanted to hurt anyone’s feelings, but nobody wanted to cross Gladys. She ran the best diner for three counties in any direction.

“Yeah, he kind of is. The rogue cougar Alistair sent us to track turned him. He killed it before it killed him.”

Gladys gaped. “You mean he’s not a born shifter?”

Gabrielle shook her head.

“And he’s that strong, plus an alpha?”

Gabrielle shrugged. “Seems so. Most turned shifters even get a little stronger after their first shift, as they grow into their new abilities.”

“Oh, lordy,” Gladys replied, fanning herself with her order pad. “Buddy had better walk the straight and narrow, or he won’t be living too long.”

Gabrielle chuckled. “I wouldn’t let Wyatt go that far, and to be honest, I’m concerned about what today’s humiliation will mean for Buddy’s future behavior. He may double-down on bullying others just to ‘prove’ his dominance.”

Gladys shook her head. “And just what makes you think you could stop Wyatt, Gabrielle? But anyway, what would you like to order?”

Gabrielle ordered their meals, but even after Gladys left to check the other tables, her question echoed in Gabrielle’s mind. Would she be able to stop Wyatt if he ended Buddy and his crew?

The bell over the diner’s door interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to see Wyatt enter. He wore a blue-checked green shirt and khaki cargo pants. Wyatt smiled when he saw her and walked straight to her table. His backpack went into an empty chair, and he sat across from her.

“Everything go okay with Hank?” Gabrielle asked.

Wyatt nodded. “I have two more sets of clothes in my pack, beyond what I’m wearing. He even gave me a card with my new sizes on it.”

“Hank’s good people,” Gabrielle remarked. “Have you given much thought to where you go from here?”

Wyatt chuckled. “I don’t even know what day it is, Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle regarded him for a moment, then said, “Today’s the fifth day after the rogue cougar attacked you.”

A knock at the study door drew Connor Magnusson’s attention. His fingers traced a pattern that was well-established muscle memory, and the door swung open noiselessly. Roger Hennessy entered the study and approached Connor’s desk.

“Any word, Roger?”

“Possibly, sir.”

Connor’s eyebrows arching upward betrayed his surprise.

Roger continued, “We have a hit on the card you gave Wyatt. Someone used it at a general store in Precious.”

Connor fought the urge to scowl. Precious—well, its whole county really—was shifter territory. He’d never been one of the more rabid anti-shifters in the Magi community, but if those animals had harmed his grandson, he’d wipe the town off the face of the world.

“Prepare three cars,” Connor almost spat. “Split the teams fifty/fifty between security personnel and war-mages, and distribute heavy weapons to one in four of the security personnel. Everyone gets shifter-bane ammunition and be sure the medics have the anti-turning treatments.”

Now Roger betrayed surprise. It sounded very much like Connor was going to war.

“Uhm, sir,” Roger replied, “are you sure about this?”

“Is Grandpa sure about what, Roger?”

Before Roger could turn, Vicki Magnusson arrived at his side. Wyatt’s twin sister, Vicki, already displayed a mastery over several Magi talents, and she was only a couple years into her studies.

“Someone in Precious used the card I gave Wyatt,” Connor replied. “I’m taking a team out there.”

“I’ll come with,” Vicki replied, pivoting on her heel. “Just give me five minutes.”

“Vicki,” Connor said, “I’d much prefer you stay here.”

Vicki stopped about halfway to the study’s door. She turned, and Connor recognized the determination in her eyes. “Wyatt is my brother, Grandpa. He’s always been there for me, even though Mom and Dad shunned him for not being Magi, and I’m not about to stay here when he might need me.”

Connor bit back a sigh. “Very well. I’ve asked Roger to prepare three cars. That’ll take over five minutes, so let’s say fifteen.”

Vicki beamed. “Thank you, Grandpa!”

“Please, see to the cars and the teams,” Connor said as he watched his granddaughter leave the study.

4

Gabrielle and I ended up in the town park. It was a pleasant day, and a cool breeze swept through the area. We were the only people in the park at the moment, and we settled at a picnic table under the shade of a massive oak tree.

“Okay,” I said, spearing Gabrielle with my eyes. “I’m fed. You’re fed. I’m not naked. What on Earth is going on with me?”

Gabrielle sighed. “It’s not that complicated, Wyatt. The rogue cougar that attacked you turned you. The scary part is that you’re a primogenitor, instead of just a cougar. I’ve never heard of a turned shifter being an alpha shifter, especially not one as strong as you are, and definitely not a primogenitor. This will ruffle some fur. To be honest, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea that the cougar turned you at all.”

I blinked. “That cougar shouldn’t have been able to turn me? Why?”

Something about Gabrielle’s expression made me feel she was uncomfortable. I watched her eyes scan the area for several moments as she remained silent.

When the silence extended, I said, “Gabrielle, please… I don’t understand any of this. I mean, five days ago, I was an entry-level tech at a software and web-design firm that could barely make payroll once a month. That magic and shifters are anything other than fiction is difficult to swallow.”

Gabrielle sighed. “I can’t believe your grandfather discussed none of this with you.”

“Why would he? And what’s my grandpa have to do with any of this?”

“Wyatt, the Magnussons are one of the oldest Magi families in the world. Your grandfather is the North American delegate to the Magi Assembly. Beyond that, shifters or vampires can’t turn Magi; you’re not technically human.”

“Not human? Seriously?” I couldn’t wrap my mind around that. How could my grandpa not be human? “Wait… do you know whether Grandma is… what did you call it?”

“Magi?” Gabrielle asked.

I nodded.

Gabrielle closed her eyes and sighed. “I should not be the one telling you all this, Wyatt. Your parents—or at least your grandfather—should’ve told you all this long, long ago." She sighed again. “But yes, your grandmother is also Magi. In fact, she was the daughter of another prominent Magi family; their marriage established one of the most powerful Magi family alliances in existence.”

“Okay, wow,” I said, still having difficulty wrapping my head around the idea that my grandparents were wizards. “Let’s leave the Magi stuff for a moment and get back to me being able to turn into a sabertooth cat. What do I need to know about being what I am now?”

Gabrielle shook her head. “So much. You’re an alpha. I know scientists and behaviorists have debunked the idea of a pack alpha for wolves in the wild and such, but for shifters, alphas are serious. Remember how half the people in the diner pissed themselves when you roared? You burst out such strong alpha dominance with your roar that everyone wanted to prove they were no threat. I think you might even be stronger than the alpha in charge of the town, which might cause some problems once he returns from his business trip to Chicago.”

“How would it cause problems? You mean he’d fight me or run me out of town?”

Gabrielle shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, it’s common for there to be dominance fights when new shifters move into the area, just to establish where they are in the pack or pride. Wolves have packs, and felines have prides, like a lion pride. I’m not sure how it will sort out, because as strong of an alpha as Jace is, he’s never made Buddy piss himself in submission. Buddy’s too dominant, which is not such a good thing considering his personality.”

I couldn’t keep from heaving a heavy sigh. “Will that happen to me? I mean, you say I’m some kind of super-powerful alpha dominant. Am I going to turn into someone like Buddy?”

Gabrielle chuckled. “No, I doubt it. More often than not, getting turned just makes a person… more. If they’re already a bullying asshole, they’ll be more of one. Likewise, if they spend their days helping elderly cross streets, they’ll still do that.”

“Okay. You said, ‘more often than not.’ That implies there are exceptions.”

“There are always exceptions, Wyatt,” Gabrielle replied. “The cases that are the odd ones out are those people who have survived abuse most of their lives and never felt they could do anything about it. If someone like that gets turned, that’s the one you want to watch, because it’s close to fifty-fifty that they’ll go power-mad and end up in bad straits.”

I nodded. “Okay. Is there anything I have to watch out for now? Like my grandma’s sterling silver dinner utensils or bags of catnip?”

Gabrielle burst out laughing. “No… you don’t need to watch out for catnip. Well, you can if you want to, but for us, it’s kind of like good quality weed. Just mellows us out. In our feline forms, anyway. I’ve never had it affect me at all in my human form. And no, don’t worry about silver, either. Like crosses or garlic for vampires, that’s just old tales. It probably got started because some hunters back in the Middle Ages had shifter-bane weapons and told everyone they were silver.”

“Shifter-bane?”

“This is something else your grandfather should probably explain, but that knife you have in your pack? The blade has a shifter-bane rune; that’s why the cougar didn’t shrug off your attacks and finish you. Our supernatural healing doesn’t work on wounds caused by shifter-bane weapons.”

I nodded and leaned my elbows on the picnic table as I tried to think of my next question.

Connor didn’t wait for Roger to open his door when the vehicles rolled to a stop in front of the general store in Precious. It was a quaint little town, reminding him of so many towns he’d visited in his youth. Several pedestrians walking the sidewalks gave him and his people long or weird looks, but he didn’t mind.

Before Connor could head into the general store, he heard someone say, “Hello, old wizard.”

Connor pivoted on his heel, and he grinned at seeing one of his oldest friends, Alistair Cooper. “Hello yourself, old wolf. What are you doing west of the Mississippi? I thought you settled in Boston with no intention of leaving.”

Connor walked around the vehicle and approached Alistair with his right hand out. His friend gave a respectable handshake as he shrugged.

“There was a major uptick in the number of rogues coming out of the Western Ranges, so for my crimes of doing such a marvelous job policing young pups in New England, the Council sent me out here to find out what the issue is.”

“Then, you may be just the person I need to speak with,” Connor replied. “Someone used my grandson’s card at this general store this morning. He’s been missing for five days." The expression that crossed Alistair’s face told Connor his old war buddy knew something. “You’ve never been a talented poker player. What do you know?”

Alistair sighed. “We should move this into my office, Connor. Wyatt’s alive and well, but we should talk.”

“If my brother’s alive and well, what’s there to talk about?” Vicki asked as she arrived at her grandfather’s side.

Connor smiled. “This is my granddaughter, Vicki. She’s Wyatt’s twin sister. All right, old wolf. I’ll trust you." Connor turned and made eye contact with Roger. “Vicki and I will speak with Alistair. He said Wyatt’s fine, but there’s something he wants to discuss. I think we can have everyone stand easy for now. I don’t think this will be the situation I expected.”

Roger nodded and spoke into a radio as Connor turned back to Alistair.

A short walk across the street later, Alistair invited his guests to have a seat in his office. He eased into his own chair and steepled his fingers, his elbows resting on the chair’s armrests.

“Okay, Connor,” Alistair said without preamble. “The short of it is that a rogue cougar turned Wyatt. The hunting party I sent arrived in time to bring Wyatt back for some basic first aid, but not soon enough to keep the cougar from attacking him. Wyatt saw to the rogue himself with that knife you gave him." Alistair chuckled. “Seeing a shifter-bane weapon with the Magnusson crest unsettled my lead hunter, in case you wondered. Wyatt has been unconscious in our infirmary since the attack; he just woke up this morning. There was a—well, let’s call it an incident—at the diner across the street that caused a need for clothes.”

“His first shift,” Connor said, making it a statement instead of a question. “I suppose, if this had to happen, there are worse animals than a mountain lion.”

Alistair made something like a half-wince. “About that… Connor, Wyatt isn’t a cougar shifter.”

“But you said a rogue cougar turned him.”

“I did, and that’s true. But he didn’t become a cougar.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed as he ran through the possibilities in his mind. The only way Wyatt wouldn’t have been a cougar was if… Connor locked gazes with Alistair again. “You mean he’s a primogenitor?”

Alistair simply nodded.

“I’ve never heard of a feline primogenitor,” Connor remarked. “You said he’s already had his first shift? What’s his feline form?”

“Please forgive me,” Vicki said, “but I feel like I’m only catching every third word or so. What’s a primogenitor?”

Connor and Alistair locked gazes again, and they both ended up shrugging. Connor turned to his granddaughter, saying, “Vicki, please forgive us. I was the Magi liaison to his shifter unit back in the war, and we became good friends. I’m sorry that we fell into old patterns and left you to fend for yourself.”

“Yes, my apologies too, dear lady,” Alistair agreed. “Primogenitors are rare. So rare in fact that I can only think of two in existence right now across the entire population of shifters… well, before Wyatt, that is. They’re both wolves. Primogenitors take the form of ancient versions of their kind. Those two wolves I mentioned are dire wolves; they make even the larger wolf shifters look like puppies, in both size and power.”

“You said Wyatt’s a feline primogenitor?” Vicki asked. “So, he’s what… an American lion?”

“Not quite,” Alistair answered. “I didn’t see him in the fur myself, mind you, but I have it on very reliable authority that Wyatt is a Smilodon.”

Connor blinked. “A what?”

“Holy crap!" Vicki almost squealed. “Are you serious?”

Alistair nodded.

“That is so cool!” Vicki cheered again.

Connor shifted in his seat to regard his beaming granddaughter with a raised eyebrow. “Care to share with the rest of the class?”

“He’s a sabertooth cat, Grandpa,” Vicki said.

“That’s not all he is, either,” Alistair added. “He’s a more powerful alpha than Jason McCourtney. To tell you the truth, I’m glad Jason and his betas are back east right now; that simplifies matters. Come to think of it, there’s something that all of us have been wondering since the hunting party brought him back. Neither shifters nor vampires can turn Magi, so how is Wyatt alive?”

Now Connor winced. “Alistair, I’m sure you know that Elizabeth and I raised Wyatt and Vicki, but what you apparently do not know is why. My son and his wife—in their inestimable wisdom—were going to cast my grandson out when he was born with no trace of Magi talent. You know how I feel about family, Alistair, so I told them they had no right to raise any of their children if they didn’t want one of them.”

Alistair shook his head. “I’m surprised they didn’t fight you.”

Connor smiled. It wasn’t a cheerful smile. “Oh, they did. It was shaping up to have the potential of being a rather epic feud… until I gave them the option of agreeing to my wishes or being disowned with zero rights to the family name and resources. The only part of it all that I truly regret is costing Vicki her parents. Rather than be civil to their own mundane son under my roof, they haven’t spoken to either child or me and Maeve in the better part of fifteen years.”

“Wyatt and I have told you before, Grandpa,” Vicki spoke up. “Their conduct is on them. It’s their fault they’re missing out on what an amazing son and daughter they have.”

“The thought occurs,” Alistair said, “that this is the perfect opportunity to strengthen relations between shifters and Magi… or at least shifters and the Magnusson clan.”

Connor nodded his agreement. “The same thought crossed my mind, old wolf. We must navigate matters carefully, though, if we want to ensure that outcome. It will take a deft hand… on both sides.”

A somewhat-awkward silence descended on the office until Alistair cleared his throat, saying, “Would you like me to have Wyatt join us? The hunter in charge of the team that brought him back has been easing him into what it means to be a shifter.”

“That might be for the best,” Connor replied. “Since he wasn’t Magi himself, I made the tough decision not to share that part of our lives with him. Vicki didn’t like it, but she eventually agreed with me.”

Alistair grinned. “Please, excuse me a moment.”

The old wolf picked up his phone’s handset and dialed a number. Moments later, he said, “Hello, Gabrielle; it’s Alistair. Wyatt’s grandfather and sister have arrived, and they’re with me in my office. Would you mind bringing Wyatt to us?" He was silent for a few moments, then nodded. “Excellent. Thank you. Bye now." Once he hung up the phone, he turned back to his guests. “They’re in the city park right behind the building we’re in. It shouldn’t be too long.”

I was a bundle of nerves as I walked with Gabrielle into the city’s administration building, and I didn’t know why. It was just Grandpa and Vicki. It wasn’t like I didn’t know them. Still, the closer we came to our destination, the more my stomach roiled. Gabrielle stopped at the door long enough to knock twice before opening it and gesturing for me to enter first. I stepped up to the doorway and saw my sister leap out of her chair and charge me with her arms wide. It wasn’t quite a flying hug, but it seemed like she tried.

After a few moments of Vicki trying to compress my ribs to fit into a soup can, she released me and stepped back, then said, “All right. I want to see.”

“See what, sis?”

“Grandpa’s friend told us you’re a kitty cat now, and I want to see.”

“Kitty cat? Really, Vicki?”

She grinned, and I recognized the mischievous glint in her eyes. “What? You were always the purr-fect brother, anyway. Now, it’s just official.”

I sighed and bowed my head. “Sis, I’d better not find a litter box in my room at any point.”

Her innocent expression was far too contrived for my taste. “Why, my dear brother… how could you ever think I’d stoop so low? Now, come on; show me. If nothing else, I need to measure your neck for flea collars.”

“You’re being a brat, and besides, I’m not the only shifter in the room. Don’t you think you might insult our hosts with your talk of flea collars?”

Vicki just grinned. “Oh, no… they’re fine. They have no need of flea collars. I’m just concerned about you, my dear furry brother. Now, come on; show me… please?”

“I’m not about to strip down right here just to show you my cat, Vicki.”

“Strip down? Why…?”

“I destroyed a set of clothes when I shifted earlier today. I’d rather not do that again, if I can keep from it.”

“The office next door is vacant,” Gabrielle offered.

“Et tu, Gabrielle?”

I watched her shrug. “You’re the first Smilodon I’ve ever seen that wasn’t an artist’s theoretical depiction. I wouldn’t mind a second look, now that I don’t have to focus on keeping you from turning Buddy into a chew toy.”

“What do you mean by that?” Vicki asked.

“Oh, Wyatt experienced his first shift today when one of the local bullies knocked me into some tables at the diner. I don’t think Wyatt understood that I wasn’t in any danger and that, in fact, I was getting ready to drag his worthless ass outside for a proper beating. He shifted, put the twerp on the floor, and blasted so much alpha dominance with his roar that half the diner pissed themselves in submission, including the bully.”

Vicki swung around to face me and put her secret weapon into play. I’d never been able to resist her sad puppy face. “Please, Wyatt? I’d love to see your cat form.”

“Okay,” I said, adding a much-put-upon sigh for flavor. “Gabrielle, do you mind helping me with doors please?”

Gabrielle nodded, and I went to the vacant office. I pulled off all my clothes and tried touching the part of my mind I’d touched to shift earlier… but nothing happened. It took a few moments of concentration before I found a part of my mind that felt like my cat, so I touched that and willed the shift. The next thing I knew, I was on all fours and furry. I padded over to the door and pawed at it before backing up. Gabrielle opened it for me, and I walked beside her to Alistair’s office. She opened that door, and I stepped inside far enough for Gabrielle to close the door behind me.

The moment she saw me, Vicki squealed and clapped her hands. She almost bounced over to me.

“Can I pet you?”

I nodded, and Vicki wasted no time.

“I love your fur,” she said, as I felt her hand slide down my spine and side. “You have such a pretty pattern, too.”

With absolutely no warning, Vicki dropped to her knees and threw her arms around my neck. As she hugged me, she whispered into my right ear, “I love you, Wyatt; I’m so glad you’re okay.”

My sister and I have always been close. It’s almost like we’re each half of one whole. Even as I luxuriated in our bond surviving my new status, I knew—knew with no doubt or question—that I would soon find a litter box or flea collar or scratching post or something in my room or another personal space. Vicki has been an incorrigible imp cloaked in the guise of an innocent, wide-eyed prom queen since shortly after she could walk.

With that in mind, when Vicki released my neck, I stepped back the minute distance necessary to look her square in the eye… and performed my preemptive strike. I licked her from chin to forehead; my tongue almost covered her entire face.

Vicki slid back from her kneeling position to sit heavily on the floor, giggling. Amid the giggles, “Wyatt, your tongue is scratchy!”

What’s Next?

Visit Smilodon at Knightsfall Press to buy your full copy today.

https://kfplink.com/smilodon

The Novels of Robert M. Kerns

For a complete and accurate listing of all publications, both currently available and forthcoming, please visit Knightsfall Press.

Knightsfall Press - Books

https://knightsfall.press/books

So…Who’s the Author?

Robert M. Kerns (or Rob if you ever meet him in person) is a geek, and he claims that label proudly. Most of his geekiness revolves around Information Technology (IT), having over fifteen years in the industry; within IT, he especially prefers Servers and Networks, and he often makes the claim that his residence has a better data infrastructure than some businesses.

Beyond IT, Rob enjoys Science Fiction and Fantasy of (almost) all stripes. He is a voracious reader, with his favorite books too numerous to list.

Rob has been writing for over 20 years, and Awakening is his debut novel.

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