Making tracks, p.1
Making Tracks, page 1
MAKING TRACKS
By
Buffi BeCraft-Woodall
© copyright July 2007, Buffi BeCraft-Woodall
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright July 2007
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Dedication:
For Uncle Mike.
1950-2006
Little boys with little toys grow up to be big men with manly machines.
We miss you every day.
Index of Terms
Alpha Canis/Pater Canis - The male leader of a wolven (shapeshifting wolf) pack
Alpha Matra/Matra Canis - The female leader of a wolven (shapeshifting wolf) pack
Change - The act of shifting forms from human to animal
Beta - The Alpha Canis' second in command. Often the wolven pack teacher/caretaker
Bitten - Became a wolven/werewolf from a wolven/werewolf bite.
Challenge - Contest or fight for a higher rank in the pack
Dragonkind - Dragons
Dueling Form - The half wolf/half man werewolf form used mainly for fighting
Elder - Psychics whose job it is to protect and police the members of a particular psychic community.
Empath - A type of psychic who is has the ability to feel the emotions of those around him/her
Fairie - Pertaining to the fairy species
Fairy - Any of the species of elves, dryads, sprites, brownies, and so on, who are vulnerable to iron
Finder - A psychic with the ability to Find things, or people.
Hell Hounds - Stray wolven running together without a territory of their own. Drifter werewolves
Hunter- A psychic whose job it is to hunt supernatural creatures or monsters. They consider themselves above normal human law. All carry the last name Hunter.
Pack - The wolven family unit. The family unit is made up of a male and female alpha leader pair and lesser member in a definite rank hierarchy.
Packhome - The main residence for a wolven pack. Most often the alpha pair’s home is large enough for a large extended family. Packmembers are not required to live with their alpha’s residence, but many choose to.
Palestine - (pronounced Pal-e-steen) The County Seat for Anderson County, Texas.
Mate-bond - The magical/psychic marriage of a wolven or wolven/psychic couple. Only the female of the pair can perform this bonding.
Metaphysics/metaphysical - Supernatural or magical in nature
Normals - Term for normal humans with no supernatural or psychic gifts
Null - Less polite term for normal humans with no supernatural or psychic gifts
Omega - The lowest ranking in a wolven pack
Psychic - A type of magic user who does not need spells to perform their special magic.
Most psychics wrongly believe that their gifts are mental abilities.
Psychic Community - A unified group of psychics living in an area. Usually psychic communities are bound together through strong church ties, which regulate their lifestyle and rabid anti-supernatural beliefs.
Supernaturals - Inclusive term for all the magical species, such as fairies, dragons, goblins, shapeshifters, witches, and so on.
Territory - Wolven packs residing in the U.S. define their boundaries by county or the same equivalent. Wolven Council law states that no less that two pack-free territories must separate those ruled by a wolven pack. Wolven packs are identified by county/state.
Warden - Protector of the Pack. Members of a pack whose job it is to protect and police the members.
Were[s] - A crude term used by the wolven (shapeshifting wolves) for all other animal species who can change forms.
Werewolf - An outlaw shapeshifting wolf. A derogatory term for a shapeshifting wolf
Wolven - The proper term for a shapeshifting wolf
Wolven Council - Managing body of wolven (shapeshifting wolves) who make sure that no pack, individual wolven, or outsider, endangers their species
Chapter One
Bailey Sparks gripped the bars of her cage and stared up at the man on the other side. She’d been pathetically easy to capture.
Her captor was out of place in the museum-quality study. Then again, the polished silver bars of her cage looked out of place, too. His dark hair was slicked back from a widow’s peak and close-trimmed beard and mustache. The yellow eyes were cold and steady.
Thoughts of snakes and other cold-blooded things slithered through her mind.
Bailey shivered. Senses, instincts that she should have been listening to all along, screamed a warning. Run. Not human. Run.
Not that she had anywhere to run, locked up in a huge silver cage.
“Now, little psychic.” He cocked his head in a smooth swivel. “What brings a tasty morsel like you to my lair?”
A blurp in her ethics? A desire to be more than a psychic compass? Fear of the supernatural?
“Ummm.”
She stalled, feeling incredibly small and stupid as he rested the ruby egg he’d been studying back on the stand. From its place among the other treasures on the mantle, a mysterious dark red fired from the depths of the ruby.
It would have been interesting to have been captured because of a magical artifact. Too bad the ruby’s glowing could be explained by a small light bulb hidden in the stand.
Bailey swallowed the taste of primal fear as her captor glided to the cage. Fear was bad. These things, supernatural things, preyed on fear. And one thing Bailey Sparks had learned in the last two years was that she didn’t like being prey.
Victim, prey, quarry, she refused to fall into that state of mind. Speaking of state of minds, what had made her think of doing something so dumb as appropriating lost treasures? She shied away from the word stealing. She wasn’t a thief.
Well, not a very good one, anyway.
Thinking that she could use her Finding abilities for more than locating lost car keys and people was turning out to be a big mistake. In hindsight, that nice boring office clerk job she quit back in Savannah was starting to look better and better.
But the one time in two years that she had caved to the lure of a chocolate mint Blizzard, she stumbled onto the local pack. Nothing killed a Blizzard craving faster than standing in the middle of a bunch of sweaty werewolves on their lunch break. Moving, and a stricter diet, were her only options. And fast.
Getting involved with werewolves again was definitely not on her list of things to do.
Lizard-man chuckled. The hissing sound sent more shudders skittering up her spine. She really wished her gifts included something to figure out what her captor was.
“Uh, look Mister. I usually don’t do stuff like this. You see ...”
He laughed again.
“You are cute, little psychic. All that curly hair and freckles.” His eyes gleamed yellow in the dim lamplight.
She heard him sniffing, sorting the scents in the air. Drat-it. It gave her the willies when they went all nonhuman like that.
The yellow eyes narrowed to slits.
“You smell like wolven, little psychic. Where is your pack? Who is in my territory?”
The growl wasn’t like anything she’d heard before. His blocky white teeth thinned to points. All of them, and not in the way the werewolves Changed.
Fear spiked through her. What had she gotten herself into this time?
The idea of moving to Alaska was looking better and better. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about vampires six months out of the year. But then, she’d never been bothered by vampires, just werewolves. Wolven. Uppity shapeshifters.
“I’m n-not part of a pack.” Bailey shrank back and pressed into the bars on the opposite side. Curse those werewolves and their super-healing blood for getting her into this mess. Mark especially. Tall, blond, and sexy, he was a complete pain in the rear. And a hound dog, to boot.
Dismissing her mind’s eye view of what she’d passed up two years ago, she tried to concentrate on the here and now. She didn’t need Mark’s protection. She needed protection from him. Before he got to Hinesville, Georgia to haul her back to Texas.
Her captor’s skin took on a different texture as he slithered around the cage faster than thought. Bailey gasped when the man’s, no, the creature’s hand shot out and snagged the messy knot atop her head.
He pressed close. There was none of the heat she associated with the wolven. He was cool. A vampire?
A fresh wave of terror spread through her.
“Not part of a pack?” he sneered. “Do not make me out a fool. There was a day that an innocent thing like you would have been tasty enough to appease my wrath.”
“I-Innocent?”
She’d just broken into his house and he thought she was innocent. There was that tasty comment again. “I’m not tasty. I didn’t even take a bath today.”
He did that horrible hissing laugh again.
The grip on her hair loosened and she pulled away to face him.
“Who are you? What are you?”
Devil-guy looked incredulous.
“You broke into my lair without knowing who I am? Did you not see the figures on my gate? The fanciful topiary?”
It was a testament to the last two years worth of weight training and aerobics that got her butt over the twelve-foot brick perimete
“Decoration? It was pretty.” All that nifty Chinese dragon ironwork was sharp too. Though the bushes trimmed to portray various mythological creatures under dragon attack was eye-catching, if a bit gruesome.
His angled head shook side to side. Belief, then satisfaction, finally settled onto his sharp features. Spreading one arm wide, he dipped at the waist in a bow that was graceful in an oily used-car salesman way.
“Well then fair maiden, introductions are in order. I am Dracen Pyre Smith. And you are in my lair.”
Bailey blinked. She really was a dolt. She’d spent too much time trying to ignore a childhood where mythology and biology class were one and the same. Pretending to be a normal Homo sapiens.
The memory of the fifth grade bio/mythology lesson as clear as the B minus her parents had freaked out over. Classification, Draco sapiens, intelligent lizard.
The psychics’ creed was basic. Know thy enemy. Then kill it before it can get you.
Draco sapiens was reputed to be smart, but not creative. This was good news for Hunters, making the world safer one monster at a time, but apparently not for naming the young.
“Uh. Can I ask you one question?”
He, it, inclined its head. The unnatural, eerie motion pushed some serious fight or flight instincts, heavy on the flight.
“What kind of dragon calls himself Smith?”
———
Mark Weis was in deep doo-doo. The knowledge that he’d defied Adam, his alpha, his dad, and left his territory for this sent a tremor through him. Wolven were pack creatures and homebodies. Disobedience went against his nature. He huffed out a sigh.
Leaving Miss Sunshine on her own for two years rankled his instincts, too. The thing was he just wasn’t ready to trade the freedom to enjoy a different woman any night of the week for a mate and a litter of fat pups.
Besides, she’d left him.
He had tracked her scent to the twelve-foot fence and found the rope and anchor.
The scent trail led up the brick and over the sharp decorative iron spikes embedded in the concrete.
He shook his head, amazed. Not at the feat, but at the woman herself.
Bailey Sparks had gone from fearing anything non-human to antagonizing rich and powerful supernaturals. Though he supposed that most of the well-to-dos out here were normal humans with legit businesses.
Mack Spencer, Adam’s second in command, liked to say that wolven were elitists. Like Bailey, Mack was human and a psychic. Mark had never heard of another pack anywhere with humans in ranking positions.
This was the first time he’d traveled more than two hours from home. Considering the hours he’d driven from his hot and dry East Texas, this damp state of Georgia might have been on another planet.
Mark bent his legs and sprang upward, catching the top lip of the fence with his fingertips. Avoiding the spikes, he vaulted over, landing with all the supernatural stealth that was bred into him.
Ridiculous, boring, and black described the sweat suit he wore. Stupid and uncool as it was, the garment would help him blend into his surroundings. It’d also be fast to strip out of if he had to Change.
Bailey’s shock and desperation had long since faded from his tenuous connection to her. Usually, he couldn’t pick up anything except the occasional whisper of her strongest feelings. But he could track her.
Blood called to blood, and his psychic had plenty enough of his to forge a link.
At home in the gray shadows of the night, Mark lifted his nose and scented.
There she was. Bailey’s own special smell, mixed with the spicy odd scent of a psychic’s magic.
He followed the scent trail around to the back of the huge-ass house. The place had to be ten times bigger than his beloved Packhome. Scents of age, decayed and new wood, and plaster told him more about the history of the house that looking at it ever would.
What he could see of the fancy carved woodwork might make the house pretty in the daylight. Packhome was a rambling rustic log home. His packbrother Brandon would have a hey-day exploring a place like this. When he wasn’t being weird or doing the family thing, Brandon was into architect stuff and restoring old houses.
Mark froze as a small sound registered in his preternaturally sharp hearing.
Deciding it was a normal night sound, he continued on, willing his heart rate to go back to a normal level. Only a crazy idiot would chase a woman, who didn’t want him, across four states.
Acting an idiot wasn’t anything new for him, but this time he had the feeling that Bailey had bit off more trouble than she could swallow. Her distrust and fear had driven her to leave him. For a change, Mark listened to his instincts. Really listened.
It was either that, or his packbrothers would pound the daylights out of him for being so irritable. Intervention, his ass. It was just another reason for a rough and tumble.
Convincing his mom’s friend, Jax, to hack into Miss Sunshine’s email had taken a little fast- talking and a free tune-up on the guy’s junker.
Who knew gnomes were so handy with both computers and history? Or that they could be so touchy about yard gnome jokes?
He still couldn’t believe she had bought that line that her employer was a history professor at some fancy college up north. Or that the ancient artifact called The Dragon’s Egg belonged to the jerk off hiring Bailey to return it to him. ID could be forged, especially on the Internet. Even the name, M.C. Gill, gave Mark the creeps.
His Sunshine wasn’t dumb. Had her paranoia of supernatural made her as crazy as the rest of her people? Mark hoped not.
Surely, she didn’t believe that she could strike one in the name of psychics everywhere and the crazies would welcome her back with open arms. That same load of crap had driven Sunshine’s cousin, Lawrence, bugfuck. The dude had had to be put down like a rabid animal before he hurt anyone else.
Once he’d figured out what Bailey was up to, Mark went straight home, packed a bag, and headed out. No thinking it over. Forget his pride. Forget her weird ideas about his kind. He’d shared his blood with her. With that act, he’d taken responsibility for her life.
Mark Weis didn’t shirk responsibility.
He inhaled Bailey’s apple-sweet scent through the French doors left ajar. His nose led the way.
The dry smell of reptile and preternatural magic pervaded the building, ruffling his hackles. The scent reminded him how far away from his territory he was. That here, he was the supernatural trespassing. At home, they killed trespassers like him.
He suppressed the growl that tickled in his throat. Feline odor, faint and fading, lingered in the air. Probably a pet long gone.
Mark Weis was an old hand at getting into trouble. Of all the pranks he’d played growing up, breaking and entering was a first. All of this sneaking around sucked.
Subtlety had never been his game.
Neither he nor Miss Sunshine had any business playing cat-burglar.
If he managed to get out with all his body parts intact, he was going to drag her back to Packhome and keep her there.
———
Mr. Smith, the dragon, tilted his head in a smooth swivel. The stillness while he listened was eerie.
What was happening? The words froze in Bailey’s mouth as Mr. Smith’s body followed the movement of his head and slithered out of the room. Okay, he walked. But the movement was demonic, creepy, and sent a major case of willies up her back.
Unintelligible syllables whispered back to her in the cage.
As soon as her captor left the room, Bailey reached for the cell phone hidden in her inside jacket pocket. The empty pocket made her slump against the bars.
Tears of frustration dampened her eyes. She wasn’t the weepy sort, so they faded away just as fast, leaving the emotion behind without a release.
Gone. Who would she call for help anyway? Her Finder’s business was Internetbased so that she could pick up and go at anytime. This was supposed to be her first big job. Something to be proud of.
Finding and returning something was one thing. Doing the actual theft was another. She should have checked closer into her client’s stolen artifact story. And his credentials.
Bailey jumped at a sudden crash. She pressed as close to the bars as possible, trying to see through dark hole of the doorway to the commotion elsewhere in the house.
