Page 22 of Were-Geeks Save a Kitten

Chapter 9

One for the Money, Two for the... Holy Hell, What’s That?

The Torch Lake monster was a lot bigger than Yordan remembered. When his puppy pack had taken on the thing, it had been the size of a cement mixer with equally hard skin. Its mismatched eyes were big, glowing targets, though, and once they’d managed to blind the thing, it had roared in agony. That opened its mouth wide enough for several well-placed bullets to fly up into its brain.

Not exactly easy, but exhilarating, nonetheless.

Today’s incarnation of the lake monster was three times the size and shot slime acid straight from its gullet.

How did Yordan know it was slime acid? Because right when the helicopter banked to come close to the battle zone, the thing shot a big green goober straight at them. Yordan didn’t have to see the melting windshield to know what was happening. He could hear the sizzle as electronics fried, not to mention The Scot’s curse as he fought with the controls.

Yordan had never learned how to pilot anything. Aeronautics were not his strong suit, so all he could do was clutch his seat and pray while the copter seemed to roil in the air.

The Scot’s calm voice steadied him, though, even as his words were, “Hold on. We’re going down.” At least he was speaking in his full Scottish brogue, which was somehow reassuring.

The rapid rise of the horizon, however, was not reassuring. Going down was right. And not just down, but into the water down.

Actually, that might be a good thing, Yordan tried to tell himself. Better than going splat on the blacktop. Except a moment later, The Scot’s steady voice cut through the beeping alarms.

“When I say go, jump.”

Jump? Like, into the freezing water jump? Half the lake was still frozen over. It was one of Yordan’s nightmares to be trapped under hard ice and unable to break through.

“Sure,” he said, though his heart was beating like a panicked hamster’s.

“Go wolf. It’ll keep you warmer.”

But it’d seriously cut down on his swimming capability. Though it was probably better not to be frozen. Wolf it was. Unfortunately, since he was a slow shifter, he had to begin the shift ASAP. He unbuckled and reached to unhook McNabb.

“Don’t bother. Go.” The Scot’s brogue was in full force now, but not even that could blunt the terror of what he said.

Still, first things first. And that meant unhooking McNabb. Yordan could already tell The Scot was aiming the helo straight at the acid-spewing monster. Hopefully the blades would be whole enough to chop the thing in half as it went down. Either way, there was no reason for McNabb to go down with the ship.

Without a word, he unhooked McNabb and shoved hard. He would have dragged the guy with him, but he didn’t have leverage. Then it was all he could do to fling himself backward out his side.

Too late. There hadn’t been time.

He crashed into the monster with all the screaming terror of dying machinery and slime monster. Fortunately, he had his own secret weapon.

No one understood the magic of a lycanthropic werewolf. Only that it took thirty seconds of agonizing pain as his body twisted and reshaped itself to a wolf. Thanks to his extensive career fighting scary shit, he knew that he could be broken in half during a shift and his body would still reshape itself according to the rules of a wolf. Which meant his screaming body could take a great deal of abuse and end up whole in the end.

That was exactly what happened. If he hadn’t been practicing these last twenty years, he wouldn’t have had any control during the shift. Turned out that if he focused on using the last of his strength to throw himself out the side of a helicopter, he could get whopped by chunks of decapitated monster and buried in burning acid and yet still reform whole and complete underwater.

The acid was mostly washed away—he was sure he’d have thin furry parts until the next shift—and his bones were solid as he kicked free of the last of his clothes and began doggy-paddling to shore. Even if it was in water cold enough to freeze a man’s balls off.

Where the hell was McNabb?

Yordan lifted his head, searching left and right while still paddling. The decapitated monster was sinking down—crap, that thing was huge—and would quickly dissolve into nothing. That was the thing about monsters created from campfire songs. Every summer, they renewed themselves. And when you killed them, they just dissolved—acid phlegm and all—as if they had never been. That was because the folk song never talked about the thing’s demise, only about it rising from the depths of Torch Lake to eat unsuspecting campers.

So that worry was gone. Acid was disappearing fast under the half-frozen lake. Which meant he ought to see McNabb’s wolf paddling quickly toward the lake’s edge. He ought to see it right now...

Right there...

Right...

Nothing. Damn it, he was sure he’d thrown McNabb clear. He’d shoved the man out with all his strength. There’d been no monster on his side to grab him and no spinning helicopter parts. Or so Yordan had thought.

He looked to the shore where the puppies were gathering. They were all worse for wear but not dead. And there, running along the shore, was Marsha in her slender gray wolf form. She sounded like she was yipping something, but hell if he could hear it.