Wild Ride: A Bad Boy Romance (24 page)

The
Alaskan city night had never looked more depressing. The florescent lights from
the bar were buzzing against the backdrop of the pale and low hanging sun.

The pain
was unbearable. Roxy had to do something to fight against it. The only thing
she could think to do was to get to Herbert. Somehow she had to save Herbert.

Roxy
screamed out. “Help, help! Somebody help me. But there was no one within
earshot, and Roxy wasn’t easily visible from the street. Not many people were
walking in front of the alley entrance.

Roxy
pulled again against the pipe. Suddenly she had an idea.
She knew it
would hurt. But she had to do it. She had to get to Herbert.

Roxy
threw all her weight forward, against the handcuffs. They dug into her wrists,
making them bleed, cutting and slicing them. It felt as if the handcuffs were
going to cut off her wrists. But Roxy could hear the pipe moving a little
against the brick.

She dug
her heels in, pushing against the pavement with the full force of her big
thighs. It was times like these when it was good to have some extra weight.

The pain
in her wrists was unbearable. She could feel the blood trickling down.

Then
there was a huge snap, as the pipe broke free from the wall, tearing right out.
It had been a water pipe, and cool water suddenly began gushing into the alley.

Roxy
relished in being free from the pipe.

Time to
get out of here, thought Roxy. Time to find Herbert.

What
where would she start? It was too late to chase down the truck, even if she’d
had a car. The truck was long gone.

And she
had no idea where the military base was. And since it was top secret, there was
probably no way she could find out.

For
inspiration, Roxy climbed back up the stairs to Herbert’s apartment.

She was
acting frantic, rushing from room to room, looking for something. But she
didn’t know what she was looking for. But she knew she needed to find something
that could tell her something, something that could help her find Herbert.

Roxy
entered the bedroom and looked at the fancy bed on which she and Herbert had
laid on so calmly only hours ago. Roxy wasn’t in the mood to think about their
love making sessions, and the thought of how peaceful she had felt only made
her miss Herbert even more, making his absence that much harder to deal with.

Feeling
distraught, a depression sinking heavily in, a depression that hurt her
physically, feeling like a knife cutting through her skull, Roxy flopped out on
the bed.

Normally,
she would have felt excited, maybe even a little wet, to find herself on a
man’s bed. But Roxy felt nothing. She only wanted to find Herbert.

She lay on
the bed in her depression, not moving, barely breathing, for what felt like an
hour.

Then
something caught Roxy’s eye. When she finally began to remove herself from her
inner world of despair, taking note again of her physical surroundings, she
found that she had been staring at Herbert’s bedroom bookshelf.

There
were a good number of books on it. Herbert must have been a reader. From where
she was lying, Roxy noticed some titles that she liked herself. There were a
few newer paperbacks, but most of the books looked very old. She could read
some of the titles, and saw that they were mainly philosophy books.

One book
was much older than the rest, with its binding nearly falling off. And Roxy
thought she saw some mold on it. While many of the book were old, she could see
they were in good shape, that they had been well taken care of.

That one
old, moldy book looked out of place. Herbert didn’t have a lot of new things in
his apartment, but everything was well cared for. Why would he keep this
strange old book that was falling apart?

Roxy got
up off the bed and went over to the bookshelf.

She
picked the book from the shelf carefully. She felt that if she made one wrong
move, the whole book would dissolve into dust.

She
opened the front cover gingerly. To her surprise, the book was written in some
ancient-looking language, in a script that she was completely unfamiliar with.
This was pretty strange. Could Herbert read this language? It didn’t look like
Russian or Arabic or Chinese, or any other modern language with a non-English
script. Roxy had the feeling there was something special and unusual about this
book. For some reason, she had the feeling it had something to do with the
native peoples here in Alaska.

Something
fell out of the book when Roxy opened it. She put the book carefully back on
the shelf, and bent down to pick up the scrap of paper that had fallen out of
it.

“Herbert,
hope you enjoy this as much as I have. I’m not nearly as fluent as you are, but
I think I learned a thing or two. Now I’m returning this book to one of its
rightful owners. May you roar & roar—your friend, Sylvan Donohue.

That was
strange. But not as strange as Herbert turning into a giant bear. Being a bear
shifter, Herbert must have known things that others didn’t. Maybe he had some
connection with then native peoples.

Roxy
thought back to her readings as an archeologist. The native peoples have always
believed that there were some humans who could turn into animals. While Herbert
didn’t seem like a native person, maybe he had some connection to them? Maybe
that was something worth looking into. But she didn’t see how it could save
Herbert from being delivered the military base, and being experimented on.

She felt
sick thinking of Herbert on that flatbed truck. What if he woke up, while they
were driving along some Alaskan highway road? Wouldn’t be terrified, knowing he
couldn’t escape. Would he think of Roxy, and their time together?

Roxy knew
she didn’t have long.

Since she
had no other leads, and no immediate way to save him, Roxy knew that her best
bet was to track down the man who had written Herbert this note. He was
Herbert’s friend, and there was a remote possibility he would know something
that could help Herbert. Or maybe he could help Roxy find Herbert. It wasn’t
much, but Roxy had feeling that he might be able to help.

Roxy
pulled out her phone for the first time since getting to Alaska. She turned it
off ‘airplane mode,’ and connected to the web browser. She knew that she still
have a week of service left before her plan was canceled due to nonpayment.

She typed
“Sylvan Donohue,” not knowing what she would find. The first page that came on
Google was “Anchorage University Library, Rare Books Department.” It showed a
picture of Sylvan Donohue, the head of the Rare Books Department. He was very
old man, possibly in his 90s. He had taken on the physique of men his age, with
hunched shoulders and a slightly emaciated frame. But Roxy liked the look on
his face. He looked studious and trustworthy.

She
decided to pay him a visit. What other chance did she have?

Roxy
walked out of the apartment, locking the door behind herself—if she
couldn’t somehow by some remote chance save Herbert, she wouldn’t want to
return here. She walked down the steps, passed the landing that already had so
many memories.

She
walked into the street, and hailed the next cab.

“To the
Anchorage University Library,” she said, in a quavering voice. She felt the
tears welling in here eyes, and felt as if she would burst into tears at any
moment.

“Ah,
yes,” said Sylvan Donohue,” adjusting his spectacles. “I’ve known Herbert for
many, many years. Ever since I was a little boy. I don’t talk about him to many
people, but I can see from your expression that you know him and care about
him.” Sylvan was seated behind an elegant librarian’s desk. His office in the
back of the library was packed full of books of all types, old and new. He wore
a three-piece suit with a waistcoat, and cut quite the elegant figure for such
an elderly man. If there was one word to describe him, his manner of speaking
and his gestures, it would be: dignified.

Roxy
liked being back in the library. It reminded her of her College library back in
New Jersey, where she had always felt at home, where she could always withdraw
from the world in order to read.

What did
Sylvan mean about knowing Herbert since he was a boy? Herbert looked young for
his age, but there was no way he was older than Sylvan, was there? Unless
shifters aged differently than humans. Was it possible that Herbert was some
kind of immortal?

Another
question crossed Roxy’s mind, seemingly without introduction: Has Herbert
always been able to shift into a bear, or was it a power he had acquired,
possibly in some unusual way?

“He’s in
great danger,” said Roxy. “He’s such a rare and precious create, ferocious and
gentle at the same time. I feel like you were the only person who could help me
help him.”

“Ah,”
said Sylvan, slowly. He was talking now barely above a whisper. “I have always
feared that something would happen to Herbert. There are dangerous people out
there, people who want to harness his powers for their own purposes, and for
evil.”

“It’s
those hunters,” said Roxy. “They’ve kidnaped Herbert. And I don’t know what’s
going to happen to him, but I know his life is in danger.”

“Well, I
wish I could help you help him,” said Sylvan, with a sad smile. “But I’m an old
man. When I was younger, Herbert and I got into all sorts of adventures. He
saved my life more than a few times, and I saved his once or twice. But my body
is failing me now, and I have a weak heart. The doctors say I only have a year
left. But I stay here in this library, surrounded by my beloved books. With my
advanced age, I’ve become something of an academic, whereas in my younger
years, I was a man of the world, a man of the woods, a man of adventure. And I
stay so that I can continue my research. It’s something Herbert and I have
talked about more many years. I have much work still to do. But I have come
closer to discovering the source of this ancient power that Herbert found so
long ago.”

There
were so many questions in Roxy’s mind. But she had a mission to accomplish. She
had to save Herbert.

“It looks
like you’ve already been through a lot, young lady. I will help as much as I
can...”

Roxy
looked down at her wrists, where Sylvan’s gaze was lingering. Her arms and
hands were still covered in blood, now dried, from when she had been
handcuffed. She had found a hacksaw in Herbert’s apartment, and chopped off the
handcuffs herself, despite the intense pain their restriction had caused her.

“I can
tell you are a strong woman,” said Sylvan, gently. “But the only way you will
be able to help Herbert is if you acquire some greater power. An ancient power,
greater than all of us. With it as your ally, you will be a formidable match
for Herbert’s foes.”

The
thought of these strange powers sent a shiver running through Roxy’s spine. It
felt like ice water.

“But how
will I find Herbert, even if I can acquire these strange powers?” said Roxy, in
a whisper. The situation seemed grave, and a whisper seemed appropriate.

“The
powers I speak of are the same powers that an adventurous Herbert found in his
youth.”

“You mean
I’ll transform into a bear, too?” A few days ago, this would have all seemed
too strange to Roxy. But she had seen Herbert’s transformation with her own
eyes.

“Not
necessarily. It’s an ancient and mysterious power. It works in ways that we
can’t yet understand. I have been studying it now most of my life, through reading
and speaking with the natives who have known of it for eons. Most likely, if
you are able to find the source, and to pass the test, you will gain the
ability to transform into an animal that best fits your spirit.”

Roxy
wondered what animal she would become.

Would she
still be the same Roxy, if she was able to find the source, and to transform,
or would she become someone different, someone other than herself? She looked
down at her big body, wishing the first time in a while that she looked different
than she did. Wouldn’t it be nice to be slim, powerful, and athletic?

“This
will be a dangerous voyage. Physically and spiritually. I warn you, it is not
something to undertake lightly...”

“I need
to do it,” said Roxy, with conviction. “I need to do it to save Herbert.”

THE
SOURCE

Even
though it was summer, it was cold up here in the Northern wilderness. Roxy was
bundled up in Alaskan gear that she had bough with the last of her money.
Sylvan Donohue had given her a small gift of a few thousand dollars, in order
to buy provisions and transport up north. He had given her old books, with
maps, that showed the last known location of the source. It had been found only
once before by Westerners: Herbert had been the only one. There had been
natives, throughout history, who had sought out the power, but in recent years
not many still knew its location.

Roxy made
hand gestures to the guide, who did not speak English, to stay back.

This was
a clearing, in the forest. Roxy paused for a moment, but continued walking. She
looked back to see the guide sitting on a rock, facing the opposite direction.
He pulled out a tin of dipping tobacco and inserted some into his upper lip.

Roxy was
about to leave behind everything she had known. She knew that this was the
place. The place where it all began. And the place where it would end.

It had
taken her a whole month of hiking, walking through the uncharted wilderness,
fighting off beasts and sickness. Her body had begun to transform already
before her eyes. She had developed new strength, and her muscles had grown. She
was losing weight without trying to do so.

Stepping
into the clearing, Roxy felt something. It was an ancient thing. But it felt
new, and fresh, rejuvenating. It felt like something she had known briefly in
childhood and then forgotten.

In the
center of the clearing, there was a small stone statue of a pregnant woman
giving birth to a wolf. The statue must have been carved thousands and thousands
of years ago. It was beautiful, but roughly hewn. She could see the dents and
gashes where the ancient tool had worked at it again and again.

Roxy
intuitively knew what to do. Sylvan had not been able to give her any further
instructions. “You will know what to do when you get there, is what the natives
say,” he had told her. “They say that if you are meant to acquire the power,
you will know. If not, you must turn back, to avoid grave danger.”

Roxy knew
that she must pray, pray to the ancient spirits.

And she
had to pray in the most ancient way, the way humans had been praying for
millennia. She needed to masturbate.

Despite
the cold, Roxy undid her pants, and slid them down around her knees.

She
reached down, touching her lips, which seemed to shrink against the cold.

But soon
she was wet and warm, her lips opening like an Alaskan flower.

Roxy
thought of Herbert, and of his cock. She thought of their love making in his
apartment.

Roxy’s
fingers moved faster and faster.

The woods
were silent.

Roxy
came, experiencing an orgasm more powerful than any she had ever experienced
before.

She felt
something happening. The orgasm continued. Her body felt wrecked by the waves
of pleasure shooting through it. She fell to the forest floor, where she felt
the pine needles and smelled their scent.

The waves
of pleasure continued, unabated.

Roxy
looked down at her leg, moving her head against the floor. Her head felt
different, but she wasn’t sure how.

Her leg
was different too. She wasn’t looking at her leg. She was looking at the leg of
a great jet black jaguar.

Her
senses were different. She was smelling things she had never smelled before.
Her hearing was perfectly tuned. She could hear the guide a mile away spitting
his tobacco.

Roxy
turned to look. Her vision was clearer than it had ever been before. She ran
forward, sprinting, thrilled at the power of her new cat body. But there was no
time for rejoicing.
Roxy had one thing on her mind.

THE END

SIGN UP FOR MY
MAILING LIST TO HEAR ABOUT NEW RELEASES AND ARC READERSHIP OPPORTUNITIES:
http://eepurl.com/bYiwMj