Wren and the Werebear

WREN AND THE WEREBEAR

(A SHAPE SHIFTER ROMANCE NOVEL)

By Aubrey Rose

Copyright © 2014 Aubrey Rose

All rights reserved.

First Edition: June 2014

ISBN: TBD

Chapter One

New York City, One Year Ago

“The heart of another is a dark forest, always, no matter how close it has been to one's own.”

–Willa Cather

It was after midnight, and the handsome young millionaire had insisted on walking Wren down the street to her car, as any gentleman ought to do. He made a joke and she tittered, shaking her hair over her shoulders like a rich dark shawl. She hated having her hair loose; it could get in the way. Her eyes tracked the shadows moving in the alleyway fifty feet ahead.

"I had a wonderful time tonight," the millionaire said, squeezing her hand confidently. She could feel his wedding ring, hard and cool against her palm.

"So did I," Wren said. She smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder. The shadow ahead shifted back into the darkness. There. The alley with the dumpster. That's where it would happen.

"When will you be in town again?"

"Mmm," Wren said noncommittally. "Not sure."

Thirty feet away. The shadow reappeared, growing on the back wall of the alley. The street lamp light reflected off the dumpster and for a split second Wren saw a glint off of something. Metal. A knife, maybe. A gun.

"How about you stay the night over at my apartment?" the man said.

Twenty feet away.

The millionaire paused on the sidewalk and Wren laughed and tugged at his elbow, trying to keep him moving. But he'd stopped completely. She smiled shyly and rounded back to his side, her gaze shyly averted: first to the sidewalk, then back up toward the alley ahead.

He caressed her hair, tucking one dark lock behind her ear. His other hand grazed her hip where her satin gown curved down to her thigh. The shadow was standing still. Damn him, it was right there!

"We could have some fun," the man said. "Back at my place." His dark chiseled jaw tilted. His teeth were Crest strip white.

The steps repeated in her mind, her father’s rules for how to work. One. Check your surroundings. Wren laughed at nothing and looked ahead where the shadow had disappeared back into the alley.

"Your place...in the city?" Wren said.

Two. Clear your weapon. She reached down to tug at her gown and let her fingers brush over the gun. Ready,

"That sounds like a yes to me," the man said. He took her arm and continued walking. Her arm. She needed her arm. "I'll make you a cocktail. What's your favorite cocktail?"

Three. Anticipate your enemy.

Ten feet. Now. Do it. Do it now. As they passed the closed jewelry shop, Wren pretended to stumble on her heel. She lurched forward, wrenching her arm out of the man's grasp. As he leaned forward to help her, the shadow emerged from the alley.

A wolf.

Not just any wolf. This wolf was huge and gray, its teeth already bared. Wren realized that the glint of light had been a reflection off of its fangs.

It snarled. The sound echoed through the alleyway like far-off thunder. The man at Wren's arm heard the noise and looked up. The wolf reared on its hind paws and attacked.

It happened so fast that Wren saw everything happen in pulses, like a heartbeat slowed down to near-death. The wolf's muscles bulged and tensed for the leap. Wren reached under her gown to her holster and pulled her gun, drawing and aiming in one swift motion. The street lamp flickered once above them, the wolf's eyes glowing red in the darkness.

She had the wolf in her sights. Then the man shouted and turned to run, shoving Wren to the side. The wolf was in the air.

Her finger pulled the trigger as she rolled sideways on her heel. She hit the wolf mid-leap, but only in the leg. Not enough.

The wolf crashed into both of them, its jaws snapping at the man's neck. The wolf fell on the man and the man fell on her, and they all went to the ground. Wren's head cracked against the sidewalk and she saw black spots flash in her vision. Her gun was pointed down, pinned under the millionaire she was supposed to be protecting.

No!

The man screamed and kicked, his arms raised to ward off the creature. Under them both, Wren struggled to get a clear shot.

The wolf snapped and bit the man's arm, and the man screamed again, this time a howl of pain. He arched back, and Wren took the chance. She pulled her gun around the side of the man and shot upward into the belly of the wolf, three quick shots in rapid succession.

Gouts of blood ran hot and steaming into the cool night air. Wren felt the dead weight of the animal on top of them and knew it was over. The man was still screaming.

She pulled herself out from under the creatures. The man had torn his arm out of the wolf's jaws, probably doing more harm than the wolf had with the first bite. He rolled away and held his arm with his hand. Blood dripped over his fingers as he wailed in agony.

Wren looked over at the man.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

The man choked back his screams.

"My—my arm—" he gasped. He slumped against the brick wall of the jewelry shop, down to his knees. If he didn't die in two minutes, Wren would nominate him for an Academy Award.

"Let me see," she said.

She lifted his hand away from his arm. The puncture wounds bled freely, but they did not gush. It wasn’t an arterial wound.

"That's not too bad," she said, letting his arm fall.

"Not bad?" The man looked up at Wren, his eyes furious. "Not BAD?" He stared at the corpse of the wolf. "And what in God’s name is that?"

Wren's cell phone rang. She retrieved her purse from the sidewalk and dug out her phone.

"Marty," she said. "We have problems."

"What do you need?" Marty's voice was calm, efficient. She was glad to hear it.

"Medical for the target. He's fine, just a little beat up."

The man sitting on the ground looked up at her in astonishment, then down at the dead wolf creature in front of them. Then back up. Wren could hear sirens in the distance.

"And we have publicity. Multiple gunshots fired on Sixty-Fourth and Lex."

"Aim twice, shoot once, Wren," Marty said. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

"The wolf is down," Wren said. "In case you wanted to, you know, send a cleanup crew. Might want an extra pair of hands. It's a big son of a bitch, Marty. You can't play this one off as a normal creature."

"They're already en route," Marty said. "Did I ever tell you you're my hero, Wren?"

"Tell the guys at CSE. They're the ones who sign my bonus checks."

Marty laughed.

“This was a close one, Marty,” Wren said. “I almost didn’t get it in time.” Her breath came out white in front of her face as she spoke. The sound of the wolf’s jaws biting down on the man’s arm—

“They’re all close. The ones that are left will always be close. But you get them anyway.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Wren hung up, turning back to the miserable man clutching his arm on the sidewalk.

"What the hell is that thing?" the man said. "And how the hell did you know it was there? And why the hell do you have a gun?"

"You're welcome," Wren said, tucking her gun back in its holster and smoothing her dress. "You know, for saving your life."

"What the fuck! What the...This is insane! I demand an explanation!" The man struggled to his feet, his hair matted to one side. His shirt was torn and blood-streaked.

A line of black cars came wheeling around the corner, and Wren gave the head driver a half-wave. The sirens were coming closer, but CSE would be able to deal with it in no time.

"The cleanup crew will debrief you," Wren said. She slung her purse around her shoulder and began to walk away from the dead creature on the sidewalk.

"Wait!"

Wren turned. The man took a half-step toward her, then stopped, unsure, it seemed, if she was as dangerous as the wolf.

"You can't just leave me," the man said, gesturing wildly back at the dead creature. "You can't leave me with this! What are those cars? Who are you people? Don't walk away!"

His voice was accustomed to giving orders, she could tell. This was one night he wasn't going to get his way.

"Sorry," Wren said. "I've had enough fun for the night. I'll have to take a rain check on that cocktail."

"But...but—"

"I'm sure your wife will be happy to know you're safe," Wren said acidly.

He froze in place at those words.

Behind him, the half-dozen crew members, all in hooded dark green clean suits, came streaming out of the cars onto the sidewalk. They swarmed around the corpse like ants swarming over a carcass. Unlike ants, they would not leave the bones. They would not leave anything.

Wren stepped delicately off the curb and walked out into the street. A black sedan pulled up beside her, and she climbed into the back seat. She pulled her hair out of her face and began to braid it. Three sections of hair. One. Two. Three. Surroundings. Weapon. Enemy. Her fingers pulled the dark hair tight, crisscrossing the sections down to the end.

"CSE extends its congratulations on the successful completion of your assignment," the driver said. The plexiglass panel between them was polarized and she could not see his face. "Your bonus will be transferred to your primary account immediately."

"I'll spend it all on dry cleaning," Wren said, looking down ruefully at her blood-soaked dress.

"Excuse me?" the voice in front said.

"Nothing," Wren said, and leaned her head back against the headrest. Her braid hung down the front of her chest, almost to her waist.

The car pulled away from the curb and Wren saw the cleanup crew finishing off the asphalt with a quick blast from a hose. Protein denaturizer. The wolf's carcass was crammed into the back of a black SUV, and a crew member closed the door, shutting out its lifeless eyes from her view.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered to herself. All of the adrenaline pumping through her had subsided in a heavy instant, and she was utterly tired. She closed her eyes on the Jersey turnpike and did not wake up until the car arrived at the debriefing station, two hundred miles south of where she had put down the wolf.

Chapter Two

California, Fifteen years ago

The two bear cubs gamboled through the woods, scattering pine cones in their path as they chased each other across the forest floor. The golden grizzly, the oldest one, turned ten years old that Saturday.

Ten years old! That was double digits! His little brother wouldn’t be seven until next March. He was thrilled to graduate from elementary school, to move on and see what else, if anything, was out there for him to discover. And there was a classroom acquaintance of his who would be going to middle school, a girl whom he had only just began to see as something more than a pile of pigtails to pull.

Then again, he wouldn’t be able to talk to her, anyway. His parents warned him about getting too close with other children.

“They’re not like you,” his dad told him. “You could hurt them, even accidentally. Play with your brother.”

Easy for him to say. His dad didn’t know what it was like to be the only kid who couldn’t invite anyone over. The freak living out in the middle of the woods. No friends. Nothing.

But all that would change once he went to middle school. He knew it.