Smilodon

Chapter 3-1

3

Being shoved aside pissed off Gabrielle more than anything else. Yeah, the edge of a table drew a little blood, but with shifter healing, her ‘injuries’ didn’t even reach the level of paper cuts. She wanted nothing more than to jump to her feet and drag Buddy Carrington outside for a proper ass-kicking, and she pushed herself back to her feet. But no matter how fast she might have been, she was already too late.

In an explosion of fabric and other materials, Wyatt Magnusson experienced his first shift, and Gabrielle’s mind locked at what she saw. Four thick legs the size of tree stumps ended in paws the size of dinner plates, if not larger. A stubby tail reaching not quite half the length of his hind legs. Sandy blond fur like a lion with darker tawny stripes. A massive muscled body standing four feet tall at the shoulder. And long curved canine teeth that descended at least four inches from his upper jaw and tapered to needle-sharp points. Wyatt Magnusson was the first feline primogenitor Gabrielle had ever heard of… and he was a Smilodon.

Before Gabrielle could even begin diffusing the situation, Wyatt lunged at Buddy and took him down to the floor, placing a massive paw on Buddy’s sternum. The crashing clatter of tables and chairs scattering like bowling pins filled the diner. Wyatt’s muzzle was less than eight inches from Buddy’s face when he roared his rage, rattling windows and dinnerware as he flooded the diner with a suffocating burst of alpha dominance.

Buddy pissed himself on the spot… and not just a tiny leak. Buddy Carrington—one of the most dominant non-alpha shifters in town—full-on fear-peed. Scents from around the room told Gabrielle he wasn’t the only one.

For one moment of weakness, Gabrielle wanted to remain where she was and watch how the situation unfolded. Buddy was an over-muscled bully, and only the other over-muscled bullies in town liked him. But they needed every shifter… even the assholes. She rolled to a crouch and stood, approaching Wyatt from his left side. He still stood over Buddy with his right forepaw on the man’s chest, and once she had a better vantage point, she saw Wyatt flexed his claws just enough to pierce Buddy’s skin like five large-gauge needles.

Wyatt didn’t react to her arrival at his side, so Gabrielle reached out to his shoulder. She couldn’t help smiling at the touch of his fur. It was coarse and bristly, like an Irish wolfhound’s coat. At her touch, Wyatt’s growl and snarl faded, and he turned his massive head toward her. Gabrielle stepped back to stand in front of Wyatt, but to the right of Buddy.

“Wyatt, it’s okay. I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.”

Wyatt’s jaw worked as if he spoke, but the only sounds that came out were deep-toned mixtures of meows and rawrs. Gabrielle fought the urge to snicker; he sounded like a baritone house cat. But he conveyed questioning concern.

“Wyatt, you can’t speak human languages when you’re shifted, but yes, I’m fine. I’m not even bleeding anymore.”

Wyatt looked at Buddy and growled. It sounded like a massive engine with aggressive glass packs in its exhaust. Buddy paled, and a minor part of Gabrielle enjoyed it.

“Yes, I know,” Gabrielle said. “He’s an over-muscled asshole with too much testosterone, but as much as I hate to say it, he has his uses. You don’t need to hurt him any further.”

Wyatt looked up at her again and rawr-ed a question.

Gabrielle nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. So… you ready to shift back?”

Wyatt bobbed a nod.

“Focus on that part of your mind that still feels human. It’s just like moving your legs to walk. Just decide you’re going to shift.”

It took a few seconds—maybe a minute—but soon, a naked man kneeled over Buddy with a hand on Buddy’s chest. Wyatt stood, but when Buddy moved to stand, Wyatt placed his bare foot on the man’s chest and glared at him.

“If you ever cause harm to another soul that isn’t in self-defense or defense of another,” Wyatt said, his voice cold and implacable, “I will rip off your head and give it to someone to use as a chamber pot. Do you understand?”

Buddy jerked a choppy nod.

Wyatt’s gaze hardened. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I understand.” Buddy’s voice carried none of his normal arrogance. In fact, it sounded a little shaky.

Wyatt nodded. “Forget this moment at your peril.”

Before the ensuing silence became awkward, Gabrielle touched Wyatt’s bicep. “Come on, big guy. Let’s go next door and get you some clothes. Buddy needs a shower and a change of clothes, too.”

“No,” Wyatt replied, shaking his head. “He can shower and change clothes right before bed.”

Gabrielle gaped. “But everyone will know…”

Wyatt turned to meet her shocked gaze. “I sort of figured that.”

Without another word, Wyatt pivoted on his heel and looked down at the destroyed remains of his clothes. He heaved a small sigh, kneeling to clean up the mess he’d made.

In seconds, a woman Wyatt didn’t know arrived at his side. Her voice carried hints of kindness and gratitude as she said, “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I have this broom right here. You just get whatever you need and leave the mess to me.”

“That’s not fair to you,” Wyatt replied. “You shouldn’t have to clean up after me.”

The woman smiled. “Think nothing of it. Buddy and his crowd have a tendency to run roughshod over anyone who can’t stand up to them, so consider this my thank you for what you did.”

Wyatt slipped his wallet, keys, and phone into the water bottle pocket of his backpack and lifted the pack by its carry handle as he stood. He regarded Buddy, who was only now beginning to stand, and Gabrielle wanted to groan at the look on Wyatt’s face.

“So, he makes a habit of being a bully?” Wyatt asked.

It took all of Gabrielle’s willpower to keep from wincing. Seriously? She just stopped Wyatt from ripping Buddy a new orifice. Why couldn’t Gladys keep her mouth shut?

Buddy was on his feet now, and he lifted his hands up like he was surrendering. His expression made it clear that he knew he was on thin ice with Wyatt.

“Oh, yeah,” Gladys replied. Her tone casual, matter of fact. “He’s been pushing people around ever since he hit puberty. He doesn’t even listen to Sheriff Clyde, and those idiots that hang around him—acting like they all want to hump his leg—aren’t any better.”

Wyatt’s eyes flicked to Buddy’s table and the five or six people still seated there, and in the silence that descended on the diner, it seemed like even the physical building wanted to gasp, “Oh, s**t… this will hurt.”

Wyatt shifted his pack to his left hand and held out his right to the woman. “I’m Wyatt.”

“Gladys,” she replied, shaking his hand.

“Gladys, I figure I’ll be around for a few days, getting a handle on how I’ve changed,” Wyatt said. “I’d appreciate you finding me if you hear that any of them are acting out.”

The high-pitched squeal of tables and chairs sliding across the tile floor filled the diner as everyone around Buddy’s table put some distance between themselves and Buddy’s crew.

Gladys beamed. “Well, I surely will, Wyatt. Thank you.”

Wyatt looked to Gabrielle. “So, we’re going to the general store?”

Gabrielle nodded.

“Okay,” Wyatt said and pivoted, walking out the door.