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Diesel was recruited by Navy SEAL Black Ops that minute. It had been a rigorous life under the command of Captain Baker but Diesel had been amongst kids like him, Shifters, Weres, all round bad asses. Diesel had been trained in mastering his ability, Shifting when he wanted instead of the other way around, keeping a firm grip on his human consciousness when in the shifted state, controlling the urge to kill indiscriminately and partaking of human flesh.
They had infiltrated enemy headquarters, leaving a trail of torn bodies and blood soaked rooms in their wake. Rabid animals were better targeted attackers than drones; less civilian casualties and no organization or country to blame. Even hardcore fundamentalists knew that accusing the USA of training wild animals in the army would make them sound cuckoo.
Payback's a bitch, ain't it?
But it had gotten too much. Fifteen years of biting in to human flesh had done a number on him and he couldn’t take it anymore, much like Russel Casse, taken on one too many trips on a spaceship. Diesel had taken the honorable discharge, instead of taking to the drink like Casse had, he’d headed in search of Shifter Grove; the fabled land, shifter Utopia, their Zion.
And here he was shitfaced and stumbling around his home. What he needed was a girlfriend. Not that there hadn’t been interest from the local female population but he hadn’t felt any attraction for any of them; stick thin and empty headed one and all, he needed a meatier woman to hold, someone he didn’t fear snapping in to with one flex of his hand.
‘I should get me a mail order bride like Custer,’ he thought with sudden clarity. Custer, the aptly named protagonist of the Western romances Diesel had a penchant for, had gotten himself a firebrand through a mail order bride ad gone wrong. ‘I shall order one myself!’
Diesel powered up his PC and clicked away, posting an ad on Craigslist, because no one crazy ever came on Craigslist, right? Done with his self-help deed of the day, Diesel headed to bed but only made it to the foot of the bed before he collapsed face down on the floor.
He wouldn’t remember that ad, not the next morning, nor in the days that followed. Diesel Wake wouldn’t remember till Sonya Blackpaw was at his door larger than life with a whole lot of trouble following behind her.
Chapter Two
More Than a Woman
Rihanna blared in the beat up Buick. A hula girl shimmied on the dash and crushed Red Bull cans littered the floor. The sky outside was clear but the interior of the Buick carried a hazy cloud cover. Sonya sang along as she drove, a cigarette stuck between her lips, her feet tapping in time to the music.
‘That skinny bitch can sing,’ Sonya admitted to herself.
She’d been driving like a cat out of hell for three days, sleeping for a few hours in her car parked in dark allies and behind billboards in sporadic bursts. She smelled him. She knew he was right on her tail.
“Where the fuck is this place,” she muttered. “Five miles before Waterville it said; you’d think it’d be easier to find.”
Sonya was running away from her recently ex-boyfriend. A construction worker by day, a mercenary by night, an asshole by choice, and a Weretiger by her God damned luck. She’d seen the ad on Craigslist, that sordid corner of the internet which was home to psychopaths and weirdos, but Sonya found them tame next to Rex.
‘Nothing I can’t handle.’
Needed: Girlfriend of Epic Proportions!
Must be beautiful, smart, strong and independent.
Must wear bright colors.
Must like pineapples.
Must like it rough.
ABSOLUTELY NO DOG LOVERS!
Sonya needed a place to crash for a while, this fugitive life was driving her crazy. She needed a shower, a clean bathroom that did not stink of strangers piss and a kitchen to brew strong coffee in. Plus she needed to mingle her scent with other people so Rex couldn’t find her so easily.
Her whole life seemed like an endless line of bad choices. Her This Is Your Life episode would look like an evidence reel for an intervention. Sonya and Timmy the kleptomaniac; Sonya and the time she dated a pyromaniac; Sonya and the PTSD guy who had night terrors and tried to choke her in her sleep; and who could forget nice guy Gary the salad pusher, ‘it’s a healthier option, love. You could stand to lose a few pounds.’
