Rosita awoke with the scream held tightly behind her lips. It was her third night after the rape, and her second nightmare. She had thought it wouldn't come back, after her night with Marshal Jones. Rosita blushed, as she suddenly realized she had never asked for his first name. After making love to her, he had tucked her into bed and held her gently throughout the night. She had had no dreams, only healing slumber. She looked at the mattress beside her, the moonlight illuminating the empty sheets. Timidly, she got up, the long night dress slithering against her skin as it fell down to her knees. She peeked into her grandmother's living room and sighed with relief as she saw him, a silent sentinel, peering out the window. Knowing Jones was protecting her, she climbed back into bed, the dream forgotten, and fell back asleep.
The next morning, Rosita awoke to the smell of cinnamon. Going into the kitchen she found a pot of cinnamon oatmeal, still warm, and a note.
Checking the perimeter. I will return shortly.
Rosita sighed and scooped oatmeal into her bowl. As she licked the spoon, swallowing the sweet, mushy cereal, she thought about what to do now. Jones had warned her not to leave the cabin. The werewolf's threat to return was still looming over her head, and he told her he planned to stake out the house until the monster's arrival. While washing her bowl in the sink, Rosita came to a decision. She couldn't wait.
Her grandmother was already safe, under observation in the hospital because of her chemotherapy. Jones had mentioned that the werewolf had been to her apartment, and Gina had made the connection, realizing that her mother's new boyfriend must be the wolf. She thought of his eyes as he'd leered at her in the kitchen the first morning, then the eyes of the werewolf as it loomed over her. There was no doubt in her mind that they were the same.
Knowing Jones would be able to come after her well before she reached her home, she picked up the phone and dialed her mother's cell phone. It was much too early in the morning for Gina. Normally she would expect the phone to go to voicemail, but something told her that this morning, it wouldn't. She wasn't the least surprised when a sultry male voice answered.
"Gina's phone. Sorry she can't come to the phone right now. Is that you, chica?"
Rosita struggled to keep the anger and revulsion from her voice as she replied.
"Uh, yeah. It is. Hey, tell my mom that Abuela is in the hospital? I'm alone at her house, right now. I got a flat tire on my bike. I need her to pick me up."
Rosita could practically hear the wheels in the man's head as they whirred with this new information. He only paused a moment, however, before replying.
"I can come get you. Your mom's asleep."
Rosita leapt at the opening she was waiting for.
"Could you, really? I'm so glad. I don't want to be alone right now."
The man's chuckle was pure evil, and a shiver ran up Rosita's spine. She felt goose bumps on her arm as he promised to come down and get her as soon as possible. Hanging up the phone, Rosita took several deep breaths to steady herself. She didn't know when Hunter would be back. She expected him any minute, but his idea of perimeter might be larger than she thought.
Not wanting to be caught unawares, Rosita threw on a pair of jeans and a tank top then, slipping into her red poncho last, the comforting feel of the familiar material bolstering her nerves. Next she went into the pantry and pulled out her grandmother's shotgun. Unloading it, she looked at the shells laid out on the table with a frown. Werewolves were tough. She knew the stories. Supposedly you needed silver bullets. Abuela didn't have silver bullets. Staring at the large shells, Rosita suddenly had an idea. Going into her grandmother's bedroom, she opened her jewelry box and found what she was looking for: three heavy silver chains. Bringing the chains into the kitchen, she got a small paring knife and gently pulled the caps from the cartridges. Dumping the pellets into an empty cup, she began breaking the soft silver chain into pieces and filling the cartridges. Carefully, she pushed the caps back into the shell and loaded the gun.
Rosita's timing was perfect. She heard the distinct sounds of tires crunching on the gravel drive. She pumped the shotgun, and calmly walked to the door. She opened it just as Raoul was closing the door to the convertible. The wide, wicked grin on his face turned slack as she wasted no time, swinging the barrel towards his body and taking aim for his heart. Those eyes. She would never forget those eyes. Rosita was fast, but the wolf was faster, ducking just as she squeezed the trigger. Instead of hitting him square in the chest, the fast moving chains buried themselves into his shoulder. Rosita fired again, missing him entirely as Raoul shifted into his wolf, his clothes and shoes shredding from his furry body. While she was distracted trying to load the next two rounds, Raoul took the opportunity to lunge. She saw him coming and dropped the shells, swinging the barrel at his open jaws.
It probably wouldn't have stopped him at all except that in the moment before she made contact, a thundering roar shook the trees. The wolf's gaze left his prey for just long enough that the sudden thud of metal on flesh left him temporarily startled. Rosita was able to scramble back into the house and deadbolt the door. The werewolf's body crashed into it, the wood cracking against his weight. She waited for it to shatter, but instead, the whole cabin shuddered as the wolf's body was sent careening into a support stud for the porch roof, causing it to partially collapse. Peeking out the window, Rosita saw Marshal Jones's tiger quietly stalking towards the prone wolf, who was scrambling to untangle himself from the splinters of wood and roof tiles. The two collided in a thrashing of fur, claws and teeth, and Rosita had difficulty telling who was who as the two bodies zipped across the yard. Gathering her courage, Rosita loaded two more shells and unlocked the door, stepping out onto the porch.
She didn't have a clear shot. The tiger and the werewolf were locked together in fierce battle, both were covered with blood. Rosita couldn't even tell who was winning as the two circled each other with viscous snarls on their lips. Then she noticed the limp. The wolf's shoulder would give slightly as he padded over the ground. She could see that their wounds were all healing rapidly, and most were nothing more than bloodied, but otherwise unmarred fur. Raoul's shoulder was a different story. Instead of rapidly healing, it looked as if the shoulder she'd hit with the chains was rapidly festering. It was swollen and bleeding copiously. Jones was taking full advantage of the werewolf's weakness, clawing and scratching the wound whenever he had an opening. Raoul's howls of pain and rage were beginning to sound desperate.
Suddenly, Raoul was on top of Jones, his jaws clamped tightly against the tiger's throat while the tiger's frantic claws tried to pry the vice from his windpipe. Rosita knew she couldn't miss, and dashed forward, towards the struggling monsters, thrusting the shotgun between them and firing at the werewolf's chest at point blank range. The grunt of pain as Raoul's eyes widened in surprise was enough to give Jones's fingers a chance to slip between the massive jaws. He threw the wolf from his body as Rosita took aim a second time. She fired at the wolf, the chain pellets sinking into multiple points along his chest and stomach, and he howled in anger and fear. Scrambling to his feet, he turned tail and ran, limping into the forest, towards the mountains.
Hunter rushed to Rosita's side, admiring the rise and fall of her bosom as she panted, the gun still gripped firmly in her hands. He gently touched her face, tilting her chin to look up at him, trying to gauge if she was alright, or about to have a break down. Staring into her hard eyes, he smiled grimly, and she nodded in agreement. Hunter knew she would be fine, and loped off after the fleeing werewolf.
The tracks were easy enough to find, and he quickly caught up with Raoul. The werewolf had shifted into his human form and made a bee line for the road. Hunter scowled. The man would try to find some poor human to use for cover. Hunter would never attack him with a human present, and he knew it. Shifting into his human form as well, Hunter reached for the silver plated knife he had strapped to his leg with an elastic band. It was his secret weapon, and it always took the other were's by surprise. After the shift, he was left completely naked, and, they always supposed, helpless when among witnesses. However, Hunter had learned to be resourceful after his first quarry had tried to hide in plain sight. The naked man limping down the highway would certainly gain the sympathy of any approaching car, and Hunter knew that if he exposed any bystanders to his weretiger form, the local pack would hunt him down for potentially exposing their pack and putting them all in danger.
Hunter didn't like attacking a man who wasn't facing him, but he was running out of time and opportunity. Coming up behind the naked man, he slipped the silver knife between his ribs and pierced the heart. The wolf tried to howl in rage, but not a sound came from his parted lips. Then he slumped to the ground, the knife sizzling slightly as the werewolf blood reacted to the silver lining.
Before he could grab a hold of the corpse and pull it into the woods, he heard a motor and looked up to see a silver car fast approaching. Hunter winced. He wasn't prepared to kill a human today, but he also couldn't be report to the local police. Keeping his knife behind his back and out of sight, he crouched down next to the body and tried to look concerned. When the car stopped next to him, he suddenly recognized it. It was the werewolf's convertible. Then he heard Rosita's voice urging him to hurry.
"Let's go! There aren't a lot of people on this road, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay here much longer."
Hunter nodded his agreement and grabbed the werewolf, heaving the body over his shoulders. He heard the pop of the trunk opening and went to the rear of the vehicle, dumping the man in his own trunk. Then he slipped into the back seat, his skin slapping against the leather interior. Rosita giggled nervously.
"He left the keys in his pants pocket. They fell out when it got ripped during his change. I grabbed you a spare shirt and sweatpants. They're in the bag. They're for a girl, but you might be able to squeeze into them."
Hunter felt around for the plastic bag that held a gray tee shirt and black track pants. Both materials were very stretchy and although they hugged his frame tightly, he was able to cover himself. Good thing, too, since they saw red and blue lights begin to flash behind them.
