Werewulf Journals 2: Trolling for Love (9 page)

“Where are you going? We had a deal!”

Hunter didn’t stop walking. “I’ve got some peppermint drops in my saddlebags.

Scuttlebutt has it trolls love sweets.”

* * * * *

“Good afternoon.”

“G’way!” The troll’s answer was more grunt and rumbling bass growl than words. The keening started back up.

“’Fraid I can’t do that, dude. I’m here to find out if you need killing or if this is all just a big misunderstanding.” Hunter swept his arms wide, gesturing to the left and right of him.

Something out the corner of his eye caught Hunter’s attention and he froze. Had that been a feeble movement behind a miraculously unbroken window?

A focused sniff and excellent hearing told him there was fresh blood in the car and a frantic heart pumping more out of a gashed wound. “Pardon me, dude,” Hunter murmured, tossing an unwrapped piece of peppermint at the hulking giant. “I’ll get back to you in a moment.”

The troll snatched the sweet out of the air, the flashing movement telling Hunter what he wanted to know about his adversary. He wouldn’t be battling a lumbering, slow beast of a monster. That troll was fast as a whippet and probably deadly in a fight.

Backing carefully away from the troll, he angled toward the mangled Mazda 626 listing drunkenly atop another late-model vehicle now twisted into an indistinguishable wreck. As he’d feared, there was a person trapped inside the distorted frame of the car. Hunter’s nostrils flared. Close as he was now, he could discern the acrid scent of spilling gasoline and smoldering flames.

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“Oh shit!” The damn car was gonna blow, and that poor sucker inside would be shish kebab if he didn’t get him out. Now!

Ignoring the troll, Hunter vaulted over the piles of debris between him and the Mazda and started ripping at the steel and glass separating him from the doomed man. I hope only Morrison is fielding long distance glasses right now.

Needing more strength than his skin form allowed, he called on the power of his inner beast. It exploded into him. Fur -- thankfully hidden by his shirt and jeans -- flashed along his shoulders and down his back, covering his arms and legs in a dense pelt of silver-tipped black. Eyes burning molten gold with otherworldly power, Hunter dropped his jaw, making space for the fangs growing out his gums. With a roar that shook the bridge, he shredded through the tough metal, molded plastic, and glass like the mediums were paper. In less than a minute, he had the dazed man free.

Behind him, the sound of men running and voices calling alerted him to the rescue team members braving the troll to get to the man Hunter had pulled from the wreckage.

Damn, were they insane?

Those yahoos had more gumption than wisdom. Any intelligent being knew you didn’t go stomping about on a troll’s bridge while one was standing less than a hundred feet in front of you.

Right now, the troll was the least of his worries. Hunter dropped to his knees, quickly throwing off the change and reverting to skin form. He couldn’t afford to let the humans on the bridge realize there was more than one freak among them today.

He slipped his glasses over his burning eyes just as the crew came up to him and grabbed the man from his slack arms, working frantically to get him conscious. Hunter squatted there, unable to move, trying to catch his breath. His vision blurred as one paramedic waved a hand in his face. “Sir, are you all right?”

Hell, no, I’m not all right!

“Yeah, I’m good.” Hunter stifled a groan as he came to his feet. Every single muscle ached and burned. His body felt like a Mack truck had slammed into him. Forcing the change like that took a large toll on his strength and reserves. He’d need protein soon -- and lots of it. No time for that, though. Even greater than his need to stoke up on nutrients was the need to clear the bridge of human witnesses and the media before he confronted the troll.

“Hey, you got a walkie-talkie on you?”

The medic eyed Hunter up and down with a skeptical look. “You don’t seem able to swat a gnat, let alone lift a phone.”

Hunter just stared at him. Sighing, the man pulled his walkie-talkie out of its holster and handed it to Hunter.

44 Camille Anthony

“Thanks, man.” Hunter nodded. “I’ll just be a minute ...” He walked away from the human far enough to ensure privacy for his conversation.

“Morrison, this is Mac. Copy.”

“Morrison, here. Copy.”

“Need you to clear the bridge of gawkers and cameras before we bring in the NHP

team. There are too many witnesses and potential victims. Copy.”

“That might prove difficult. The media is sticking firm, quoting freedom of the press.

They’re swarming over here and more are pouring in as we speak. Copy.”

Growing aggravated, Hunter sighed. Why did every frigging thing have to be so difficult? Couldn’t he have one situation that resolved itself without him having to resort to threats, murder, or mayhem?

Anger sharpened his voice, tightened his hand on the walkie-talkie. “Morrison, you should have known better than to let them gain a foothold in the first place. Listen, I can’t face this thing alone, not ... like I am.” Aware he was on an open channel, Hunter was careful to code his words. All they needed was for some yahoo to get wind of just how special the Non-Human Protectors were. “Do you copy, Morrison? I need to ... bulk up, and I may need backup. You get these walking interferences off this bridge, or I’m outta here!” As an afterthought, he brought the communication unit back up. “Over, damn it!”

With a snarl of disgust, he stomped over to the medic, slapped the walkie-talkie into his hand before turning and stomping to the side of the bridge, where he leaned back, stretched his arms out and rested against the huge metal strut as he studied the troll.

Wracking his brains, he tried to correlate every bit of information he’d ever heard about trolls. For the life of him, Hunter couldn’t draw up any pertinent information other than the facts trolls liked sweets, and once they claimed a bridge, they pretty much became immovable objects.

On the far side of the twisted metal barrier of jacked-up vehicles, the paramedics prepared to pull out. Keeping one eye on the troll and the other on the activity of the humans, Hunter heard the connecting signal of an incoming call. The unit he’d borrowed crackled. A beep sounded. The medic lifted the walkie-talkie to his ear and listened. “Tell that goddamned son-of-a-bitch the NHP is already here. I’ll have this place cleared in ten.

Over.”

The man holstered his phone and cleared his throat. “Uh, the commissioner says give him ten minutes, sir.”

Hunter didn’t turn his attention away from the troll and its puzzling actions. “That’s not what he said, but thanks, pal, ’ppreciate it.” The incomprehensible behavior of the large predator drew his gaze, and he frowned, wondering, What the hell does all that rocking and keening signify?

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“Hey, look ...” The paramedic stared at Hunter in consternation. “You’re not planning to take that monster on single-handedly, are you?”

Hunter turned to face him. He leaned his elbows on the strut bracing the section of bridge he was leaning on. “Somebody has to, so yeah, I am. Why?”

The man shrugged, but his eyes flickered over Hunter’s body as if cataloging all the bones that could be broken. “I’ve scraped up enough bodies today. I don’t want the last one to be yours. Take your own advice and get the hell off this bridge.”

Hunter glanced over at the agitated troll, and then back to the medic. “Wish it was that easy,” he muttered. He gazed at the troll, trying to estimate its height and weight.

The hair covered everything and blurred the lumpy outline of the gigantic creature enough to make judging its true musculature an imprecise art. Height, now, that was no problem. It stood as tall as he did in his mid-form. Glancing over at the toll gates, he saw Morrison had kept his word and was clearing everyone but the on-duty members of the paranormal security task force, the Non Human Protectors -- or NHP -- from the area.

Hunter was proud of his role in making the formation of the undercover ops possible.

The group was brand spanking new, not even a month old, and this would be their shakedown operation.

Morrison had been of two minds over the wisdom of creating such an otherworldly squad, but Kevin’s superiors had overruled him and ordered him to work with Hunter. He had vetted the members Hunter recruited to build a team of non-human peacekeepers whose job would be policing the segment of the city’s population that most humans had no idea existed.

Hunter was the captain. It chapped the commissioner’s hide, but the others refused to work with humans without a neutral go-between. They didn’t trust Morrison, mainly because the majority of them could smell his fear and dislike of anything not completely human. It didn’t make for an easy working relationship.

When the police had finally removed everyone from danger, Hunter pushed off from his observation spot and headed toward the troll. He stopped short of getting in the thing’s face, about three feet out. “Okay, you and I need to have a little talk.”

That shrill, almost ultrasonic keening cut off as the troll tilted its head to the side and peered through the tangled growth obscuring its facial features. A low, bass chirp vibrated the bridge, and Hunter got the vague impression the thing was trying to communicate ... to ask a question.

“Can you understand me, big guy? You need to leave this bridge. This is not a good bridge for a troll anyway.” He ran his fingers through his hair, wondering why he was wasting his time trying to talk sense to a troll, for godssake ...

“I mean, one glance about should have told you this was a high interface area. Just look ...” He pointed at the tollbooths, at the paved lines of high-speed highway. “What in 46 Camille Anthony

hell were you thinking taking up residence on the Golden Gate? It’s the worst location in the city. What kind of house hunting did you do? Did you even look at the Bay Bridge? At least it has double decks and one-way traffic, each. It doesn’t sway in the damn breeze at the slightest wind.”

The thing held its hand out and chirped again.

“Oh, you do have a sweet tooth, don’t you?” Hunter reached in his pocket and drew out another candy. Unwrapping the peppermint, he tossed it in the general vicinity of the troll.

Like greased lightning, it snatched the treat out of the air and devoured it, humming all the while. As soon as its mouth was empty, the thing held its hand out for more.

“No more candy, big guy. Let’s stay on target, here.” Hunter planted his fists on his hips. “By the power vested in me by the city of San Francisco, I hereby demand you cease and desist from occupying this bridge and tossing cars and such about at your whim. Be advised San Francisco does not have squatters’ rights laws in favor of the squatter.” Hunter’s grin showed all his teeth, which had elongated in preparation of the fight he suspected was headed his way. “And I can guarantee you won’t be in possession of said bridge long enough to qualify for California Code of Civil Procedure #321.”

The troll got tired of waiting for another treat. Roaring with a loudness fit to wake the dead, the being rushed Hunter. Grappling with him, grasping him by his feet, the monstrosity hauled Hunter upside down and shook him. The candies fell out of his breast pocket, showering the ground about him.

With a rumbling -- happy? -- chirp, the troll tossed Hunter over its shoulder, dropping him on his head as it fell to its knees and scrambled after the fallen candies.

Stuffing them one after another into its mouth, the troll chomped down on them through the plastic wrappers, chewing contentedly.

That damned just-beyond-human-hearing keening once more screeching inside his head, Hunter rolled over and sprang to his feet in one sinuous movement A black tide of anger rose within him. Pissed and hurting, his temper short-circuited by the casual ease with which the troll dismissed him, he gave way to the urge to take on his fighting form and whip the shit out of the disrespectful interloper.

Bending over, he undid his boots, toed out of them, and stuffed his socks inside. He set them carefully out of the way. Those boots were prime leather. It’d taken him years to break them in, and he didn’t want anything happening to them.

He straightened up and glared over to where the troll was shuffling back to its original location, jaws still masticating the thick wad of candies shoved in its mouth. “That little stunt just pissed me off royally, dude. You want to dump me on my ass, you fucking better issue a challenge. You don’t go tossing me over your damned shoulder like yesterday’s trash.”

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His fingers flew down the placket of his shirt, undoing buttons with a haste that rivaled a junkie’s desperate preparation for a fix. Throwing his shirt to the side, Hunter flexed his muscles, letting the change flow over him, welcoming it. He reached down and released the button at the top of his jeans, pulled down the zipper, making space for the added bulk of his ongoing change, preserving modesty and mitigating some of the discomfort.

His eyes had flashed into golden heat as the change began, and now his arms and legs grew in bulk, and his nails and toes sprouted the thick, dense claws that could rip gouges in reinforced steel. His hearing increased as the tips of his ears elongated and stood upright. Fur flowed over him, giving added protection to the massive musculature of the supreme fighting machine that threw back its head and howled his challenge to the sky.

Stepping up, going toe-to-toe with the troll, his voice now sounding as gruff as it scraped past a wulven throat, Hunter snarled, “Consider this your damned eviction notice, troll. Get the hell off the bridge!”

Drawing back a loosely curled fist, Hunter threw a roundhouse punch at the beast’s jaw, quickly following up with a right uppercut to the belly that lifted the troll off its feet and flung it back over ten feet.