Call of the Wilds by Gale Stanley Read Free Book Online Page B

Oxford shirt and a new pair of jeans. Maybe a night out in Macon would put him in a better mood.

    * * * *

    Macon was a large town with several establishments where people could meet for a night of uncomplicated sex. Malcolm chose a tavern he had frequented once before, took a seat at the bar, and nursed a beer. Time passed, the place got crowded, and the music got louder. He felt like a fish out of water, and finally he downed his drink and threw some money on the bar. Just as he rose, an attractive blonde slid onto the stool next to him and started a conversation. He bought her a drink and tried to look interested.
    The woman seemed more than willing to take things further, but he couldn’t work up enough steam to make it worthwhile. She smoked and drank too much. He hated her perfume, something strong and flowery, and although her hands were all over him, he had no desire to reciprocate. She wasn’t Karin.
    The anticipated hook-up didn’t work out, so he decided to cool his heels, all four of them, with a long run. When he pulled up to the house, Ralf didn’t greet him so he assumed the hybrid was already out. Ralf didn’t like being confined any more than he did. An open window gave him freedom to come and go as he pleased. The hybrid never went far. Maybe he could catch him.
    He undressed and basked in the freedom of movement unrestricted by clothes. The cool breeze on his bare skin invited him to run. Stretching his powerful muscles, he took a deep breath and looked inside himself for the change.
    He dropped to a crouch, his body bent forward, and his fingers dug into the earth. Cords of muscle flexed and straightened like cogs in a well-oiled machine—a far cry from the agony of his first change, a rite of passage that came with sexual maturity.
    He recalled his father’s reassuring presence by his side while his body twisted into painful contortions. His bones, alien things inside his body, threatened to pierce his flesh and tear him apart. He’d never been so frightened. Not before, or since. His father had promised him it would get better, and it did. With training and exercise, he’d learned to embrace the change and call it with eager anticipation.
    He looked down. Gray fur spread over his limbs like a time-lapse movie. Bones fractured and reformed, sounding like twigs cracking underfoot. His midsection contracted while his face expanded.
    Reveling in his heightened senses, he lifted his muzzle to the wind and inhaled. The coppery scent of blood raised the coarse hair on his back.
    Ralf!
    He leapt up and ran. The scent took him by the old barn where he did his woodwork. Stunned, he saw Ralf’s motionless body lying in a pool of blood. He shifted and dropped to his knees, cradling his best friend in his arms. A howl of rage and despair came from the depths of his soul. If he lost Ralf, he’d be completely alone again. He wouldn’t let it happen. The animal needed more help than he could give him. He forced his brain to work. If he went to the local vet, everyone would know he owned a hybrid. As much as he hated to involve Karin, he had no choice. There was no one else. He carried Ralf back to the Jeep. Fate brought him to the refuge this morning and fate made him slip one of Karin’s cards in his pocket. He picked up his cell phone.

Chapter Eight

    “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?”
    Spooked, Karin threw aside the covers and jumped out of bed. Outside her window, a barred owl sat in the cavity of a tree. For a few seconds they blinked at each other, and then it hooted again, " hoo, hoo, too-HOO; hoo, hoo, too-HOO, ooo " and she cracked up. Her nocturnal friend sounded amazingly like Julia Child—to her anyway. In ancient Rome, they believed an owl’s hoot predicted death. Good thing she wasn’t superstitious. She might be tempted to crawl back in bed and pull the blankets over her head.
    No sense pushing her luck. She’d already had a few hours of nightmare-free rest, and by the time