Page 12 of Maneater

As I reach the section of the creek rushing around a group of boulders that creates a small waterfall, I hear the cougar again. Hissing, snarling sounds come from the falls, the roar of the water almost drowning them out.

I slow my pace, doing my best to creep up on the big cat so I can take its measure. The moment I catch a glimpse of his grizzled gray coat, still scruffy from post-winter shedding, I realize the little bastard is none of the cats I know. He swishes his black-tipped tail, his lips pulled back in a fierce grimace that shows off his long, pointy fangs.

I bare my own teeth. He’s got a lot of nerve passing through this territory without checking in with me. All the predatory newcomers are given the rundown when they move to the park. Either he’s newly arrived and hasn’t had a chance to connect with me, or he’s an asshole.

He lets out a high-pitched scream, his stance indicating that he’s fixed on something nearby. Prey or fellow predator, I can’t be sure. I move past the tree to my right for a better view. My heart jumps into my throat.

Darien.

I stretch my claws and bare my fangs, my body tensing as I prepare to charge the beast who dares to threaten Darien. I leap forward, my charge more sluggish than the cat’s will be, but he has a leaner frame that’s built for pouncing.

He slams into my solid body before I’ve reached him and bounces off me like a paddle ball. He skids across the ground, rolling a few times before landing closer to Darien than I would’ve liked. But I’ve seriously pissed him off, and he’s no longer fixated on Darien.

Shaking his head, he scrambles back to his paws, hissing. I grunt. His vocal warnings don’t impress me.

We slam into each other again, and this time it’s on. He swipes bared claws, and I swipe back. My fur is thicker than his, and my size and strength outdo his by a good measure. He bares his fangs and lunges for my throat, but I grab him by the scruff and hold him up in the air as if he were a tiny kitten.

I let out an ear-splitting, wailing shriek of a howl as the cougar thrashes helplessly in the air. His attempts to slice through my fur with his claws fall short as I hold him away from me. I spot poor Darien on the ground in my peripheral vision, obviously terrified, and I’ve had enough of this irritating cat.

I toss him aside, and he rolls in the dirt again. With no small effort, I tamp down the rage that was unleashed when I spotted the cougar threatening Darien. I have no idea if Darien’s been hurt by it, but I doubt he’ll let me as a Howler come to his aid.

I gaze down at him, trying to work out what I should do next, and he lets out a scream that rivals one of my own. I briefly freeze, but it’s enough time for Darien to take off like a shot.

The mountain lion chooses this moment to regain his footing. Even though he’s clearly worn out from our battle, he looks as though he’s about to have another go at me. I seriously don’t have time for this bullshit. I do a bluff charge, let out another bellowing howl, and with one last roar, he takes off.

I bolt in the direction Darien went, desperate to catch up to him before he gets hurt. He could fall or get lost in the woods because of his panic. I’d be devastated if he was harmed because I couldn’t catch up to him in time.

Even though I can’t see him, my keen Howler sense of smell picks up his scent. Thankfully, he’s not too far ahead of me, and I won’t have a problem reaching him. My stride is much longer than his.

Alarm hits me as I realize Darien is headed right in the direction of my cave. The protective veil is up, of course, but he’s tearing through the woods at such a frenzied speed, he’ll probably smash right into it.

If humans are repelled by simply strolling by the wards, what will happen if they slam into them?

Chapter Five

Darien

Finally, I’m beginning to settle in. After two weeks, Arkansas is starting to feel like home now that I’ve got a place to live and a steady job. Sure, it’s not luxury accommodations and is only temporary, but it’s all I need for now. My boss, Virgil, at Folksy Foods is letting me stay in a back room with plenty of space for me and my meager belongings.

But today is extra special because I have two days off in a row. I’m going to take advantage of the opportunity to do some real exploring. I’ll start on this side of the park today, then a different area tomorrow. Virgil gave me some good spots to check out, and since I don’t officially begin my work schedule for a couple of days, I want to enjoy as much of the park as possible.

Virgil calls out from the other side of the shop as I make my way through. “Now remember what I said. When you get to the fork where the road meets the main highway, go to the left. The Azure hot springs are on the right, and you’ll run into a crapload of tourists.” He shudders. “Tourists. Can’t hunt them, can’t stay in business without ‘em.”

Seeing as I still feel like an interloper from California, I elect not to comment on his observation.

“I remember, Virgil. Thanks for all the tips.”

I wave, then head to my Jeep that’s parked on the side of the market. The five spaces in front are the only paved area on Virgil’s property and reserved for customers. He’s reached the age where he no longer drives, and his arthritis keeps him from enjoying the trails, so he’s living vicariously through me.

The day is amazing, the weather perfect for my excursion. Late spring is my favorite time of the year, and the morning does not disappoint. The temps are perfectly perfect, and the wildflowers are in full bloom. The sun peeks through the thick cluster of trees, and the birds loudly remind the world that they are back in full force.

I suck in a deep breath of the pine-tinged air, not able to get enough of the scent. It elicits a Pavlovian-like response in me. The trees have been heated by several days of warm weather, releasing the aromas that link me to my happy place—those weekends when I could escape the endless racket and exhaust-filled air of LA and head out to the mountains for a much-needed reboot.

Thankfully, I’m in my happy place all the time now.

I toss my backpack into the Jeep, then hop in behind the wheel, my cheeks aching from what is likely a ridiculous smile. The type of grin that makes people wonder what sort of evil plan I’m concocting. I was told by my girlfriend more than once that it makes me look maniacal.

I shake my head as I start up the engine, then pull onto the road.