A Date with a Werewolf, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Title Page
Dedication and Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter None
The End
Chapter One
Chapter Two
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About the Author
A Date with a Werewolf
MH Bonham
Llaughing Llama Media, LLC
© 2019 by M. H. Bonham.
Published by Llaughing Llama Media, LLC.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
Cover by M.H. Bonham.
Printed in the United States of America
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Dedication and Acknowledgments
For Larry
Special thanks to Gary Jonas and Kate Steenberg
My cheerleaders and Beta critics
Chapter One
I walked into the werewolf bar, pulled out my badge, and shouted, “You are all under arrest for kidnapping.” I began to recite their Mirada rights when a were cold-cocked me from behind.
Like Rodney Dangerfield, I just don’t get no respect.
I went down like a sack of spuds. Guess that’s what I get for trying to arrest an entire werewolf biker gang for stealing my girlfriend. Okay, my girlfriend-to-be. Okay, we were more like just friends who had a possible romantic interest. As in I had the romantic interest, and I had no idea if she did too. As in I asked her out on a first date, and she said “yes.”
But, I’m getting ahead of myself. My name is Bob Ironspell-Cabas, although most people seem to pick up on the Ironspell name and forget I have a first name and a hyphenated last name. I’m not a mage or a wizard, but I do come from a long line of wizards on both sides of my family. I do use magic, but my formal training only comes from simple undergraduate studies and reading magic spells like those in Wizardry Today. I’m a rookie cop with the Denver Police Department Supernatural Unit, or DPDS when I’m not trying to rescue my date.
My date, who incidentally, is also a werewolf.
The werewolf biker who punched me from behind gave me a vicious kick in the stomach and I hurled on their bar floor. The werewolf bar was in Commerce City, which is out of my jurisdiction, but given that when I went to pick up Luna, my date, I found the Denver Wolfpack’s bar ransacked and Luna and four other female weres gone. The Denver Wolfpack and the Commerce City Wolfpack had been rivals since Colorado became a state in 1876, which is a long time for a feud. The only creatures that have longer feuds than werewolves are the vampires, wizards, Fae, and oddly enough, humans.
“Hey, Lenny, you just assaulted a cop.” A werewolf biker with red hair, red beard, and a t-shirt that said Werewolf Bikers Rock spoke up. He was my height but at least twice my width and all muscle. I noted the tats across his hairy arms gleamed with magic—ward runes and wolves—as he offered me his hand to help me up. His hand made my fingers look like they were from a ten-year-old’s instead of a twenty-four year old’s. He hauled me to my feet.
“So?” Lenny snarled, and I got a look at my assailant. Lenny stood a bit taller than Red Beard and had long silver hair and a braided beard. Like all werewolves I’ve encountered, he had a wolf’s brass eyes, which, by the way, is how you can tell a werewolf from a Normal when they’re in human form. “Lighten up, Red, he just tried to arrest all of us.”
“Like you think he could?” A brown-haired were spoke up from the booth. He sat next to two young women, both Normals and busty, with enough tats across their arms to put to shame most of the werewolves there.
“Hey, I really don’t need to get booked again.” Lenny eyed me. “Especially on some trumped-up charge.”
“It’s not trumped up.” I rubbed the back of my head where he had hit me. “You guys trashed Trader Vic’s…”
Red cocked his head, almost like a puppy who hears a strange sound. It would’ve been cute, except it wasn’t. “Someone trashed Trader Vic’s?”
“Where’s Alaric?” Lenny said. “He should be here, not you, little man.”
Alaric is the Denver Wolfpack’s Alpha. He’s a big dude and not to be trifled with. When I showed up to go on my date with Luna, I found him and about a half dozen werewolves beaten and bloody. “Alaric is in the hospital from the attack.”
The bar went completely silent. Red’s eyes narrowed. “Someone put a hit on Alaric?”
“Yeah, and he said it was you.”
“Liar!” Lenny half-turned into a wolf right there and leapt at me. Red smacked him back with one open hand. Lenny skittered across the floor, nearly wiping out a table with four werewolves playing cards and hit the bench portion of a booth. He rose slowly and shook his head.
“Idiot,” he said, “Alaric claimed it was us.” Red growled. He gazed at me. “Now, why would Alaric claim we’re responsible when we’re not?”
I looked into Red’s brass eyes. “You’re saying you didn’t attack the Denver Wolfpack’s headquarters?”
“What’s your name, little cop?”
“Bob. Bob Ironspell-Cabas.”
“The wizard who tamed the dragon and killed the sorcerer at the Denver Zoo?”
“I’m not a wizard and technically Smog, the dragon, ate him.” There was no reason for me to lie.
Red pointed to Lenny. “Clean up the mess.” He pointed at the bartender. “Get our friend a drink here.”
The bartender nodded. “What will you have?”
I continued to rub my head. “What’s on tap?”
“Coors, Miller, Dog Star, and Firebreather.”
“I’ll take a Dog Star,” I said.
“Good choice,” Red said. “Come over to my office after you get your drink.” It was not a request; it was an order. I felt the Alpha’s magical tug on me, even though I wasn’t a were. I thought about disobeying, but then, I was still hurting in the head and the ribs from Lenny’s cheap shots. I got my beer and dutifully walked over to the Alpha’s office, feeling a lot like a kid who had just gotten called to the principal’s room.
Chapter Two
“Close the door.” Red Masterson motioned to the door as I entered his office. To his credit, he had bookshelves lining the wall, many with great classics such as The Lord of the Rings, The Hound of the Baskervilles, Frankenstein, Dracula, the Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe, Beowulf, the Complete Works of Shakespeare, the Iliad, the Odyssey, and the Aeneid. He had contemporary works too such as the Jonathan Shade series, the Dresden Files, the Alastair Stone Chronicles, and the Montague and Strong Case Files. His desk looked like some lighter wood—oak or pine—and the two chairs at the front of his desk looked more for comfort than simple utility.
As I closed the door, I noted that ward runes flared. I read them to be silencing runes, meaning that not even a werewolf’s supernatural hearing could pick up what was said. I nodded, impressed by their design. At the same time, if Red tore me to pieces, nobody would hear that either. It was a chance I’d have to take.
“Ironspell.” Red looked at me appraisingly as he sat down behind the desk. “We’ve heard about your latest exploits, and I must say I am impressed.”
I grunted noncommittally as I fingered the truth charm in my pocket as I sat down. The charm was a simple one. Once activated, if the person you were talking to was lying, it would turn red. As a police officer, we’re forbidden to use them in our work, but this was my time off. They didn’t work on Fae, magic users, and other types of Supernaturals, but I guessed it would work on lycanthropes since they were in most respects closer to humans than other Supes. I palmed it and brought it out, taking a surreptitious peek at the flat, white stone.
“But, we didn’t attack the Denver Wolfpack. Least of all Alaric.”
“Then, who did? Especially when Alaric claimed it was you.” I raised an eyebrow as the stone remained white.
“As powerful as my pack is, it is no match for the Denver Wolfpack. What you saw in the bar constitutes our entire pack.”
I had counted maybe fifteen members of the Commerce City Wolfpack. If they all came together at Trader Vic’s, they would’ve been able to overwhelm the werewolves who were there. But—and I hesitated—Alaric had me and a real mage ward the entire bar and upstairs. It had taken me the better part of a week to research the runes and get the sequence right, but when all was said and done, nobody should’ve been able to enter and attack the pack on its home turf. The ward runes had been taken out, which led me to believe someone with powerful magic counteracted them.
“Do you have any magic users in your pack?”
“No.” Red shook his head. “We do know some ward witches, a tattoo witch, and a hedge witch, why?”
“The ward witch did your runes?” I pointed to the door.
Red grinned. “Yeah, she’s really handy with those. She only has to refresh them every six months or so. She offers them at a great price too for multiple entrances and multiyear contracts.”
The truth charm stayed white. “So, you want to talk to me?”
“Yeah, I want you to understand that no matter what Alaric thought he saw, it wasn’t the Commerce City Wolfpack.”
“Who would have cause to attack an
Red’s brow furrowed. “Someone stole their women? Seriously? And you’re blaming us?”
“Well, it seems most logical…”
“Dude, get with the 21st Century. We’ve all gone through sensitivity training. We don’t steal women—our women stay with us because they want to.”
“But…”
“A ‘No’ is definitely a ‘No’ in my book, and any werewolf in the Commerce City Wolfpack will say the same thing. In fact, I’m so offended, I might have to go to my safe space.” He looked like he might actually cry.
“Dude, I-I had no idea…” I glanced at the truth stone. Still white and not a hint of red. Not even pink. “Look, I’m sorry for the accusation. I just wanted to follow up on the lead we had.”
Red nodded and sniffled. “Damn allergies.” He pulled a tissue from a tissue box on his desk. “I really hate spring. I thought I’d do better on the plains but the damn Normals keep planting deciduous trees.”
“I can relate. I have asthma.” I nodded back.
“Really? They let you into the Denver Police?”
“Yeah, it’s not that serious, and I have an inhaler I use for the days when the brown cloud gets a bit rough.” I paused. “So, if you didn’t kidnap the female weres, who did?”
“Good question. If it were a rogue pack that moved into Colorado, we’d know about it.”
I had little doubt of that. “Maybe someone else from out of state?”
“Maybe if I caught their scent.” Red scratched his head. “Odd, Alaric should’ve been able to smell right through any illusion…”
“Hmm.” I considered the possibilities. “Unless there was an olfactory component to the illusion.”
“Are there such things?” Red tilted his head again like a puppy.
“Yeah, but it’s complex and requires a talented wizard to pull off.” I pondered the possibilities.
“How powerful?” Red asked. “Someone like you?”
I almost laughed but caught myself. My illusions generally suck. The only illusion I got to work properly was creating a door to look like a blank wall in my house. I suspect the house had helped augment some of the magic; otherwise, my lab could be easily found by an intruder. “Someone better at it than me.”
Red shook his head. “I don’t know of any weres that employ mages.”
I felt a twinge in my hand and looked down. The charm glowed red. “Really? You might want to rethink that.”
Red frowned, looking menacing. “Are you calling me a liar?”
I took a deep breath. “No, but I think you might know of a werewolf pack in Colorado that may have a mage or two.”
“There is the Boulder werewolves, but they’re a bunch of vegan pansies. They’re all new-agey and hippie, if you know what I mean. There is no way they’d be able to hit the Denver Wolfpack’s headquarters.”
I glanced at the charm. It returned to its normal white. Okay, so the truth charms worked on werewolves. Good to know. “You ever meet with their Alpha?”
Red snorted. “Hell, no. They’re just a tiny pack of five, I think.”
Five werewolves. It might be enough to cause the devastation at Trader Vic’s, if they had a magic user to cover their tracks. That was one thing I did notice when I arrived at the Denver Wolfpack’s headquarters: the whole place reeked of magic. The type of magic that simple ward witches and hedge witches were incapable of wielding. No, this was a full on mage who could probably wipe the floor with me when it came to magic. Still, I did have silver-cored bullets for my 9mm. I could probably handle five werewolves on my own, and there was no guarantee that they would be the pack that kidnapped those ladies.
“Well, thanks for setting me straight on the facts.” I rose to leave.
“Where are you going?” Red asked.
“To check out that Boulder pack.”
“No.” Red shook his head. “You’re not going alone.”
“Excuse me?” I stared at the Alpha.
“I’ve seen how you handle weres. You need backup.” He grinned. “I’ve been meaning to beat the crap out of those pansy-ass vegans for some time. And they have payback for setting us up in their little raid.”
“You mean…?”
“Yeah, the whole Commerce City Wolfpack is coming with you.”
Chapter Three
Riding pillion on the back of a werewolf’s Harley wasn’t on my bucket list, but the pack insisted I ride instead of driving my trusty Toyota 4Runner. Something about the age of the truck, combined with the peeling paint apparently made me look less macho than they thought I should. Not that riding behind a beta female was any manlier. I had never ridden a motorcycle at highway speeds, much less a Harley, and the concept of hanging onto—well, damn near nothing—scared the bejesus out of me.
The female were’s name was Jessica and she was no nonsense all the way. She had tats up and down her arms and wore biking leathers that cost a small fortune. I sensed magic on most of her tattoos, making them interesting in their own right. She caught me looking at one on her arm and thought I was staring at her rather ample chest. For the record, she has a mean right hook and after I picked myself off the floor, I only looked at her tats when I was sure she wouldn’t notice.
So, I couldn’t even hold onto her as we screamed up I-270 northwestward toward Boulder. I had to hang onto the back bars behind the seat, which made me sit up in a weird angle. If we crashed I’d be airborne and probably have a hell of a road rash, assuming I survived. I could probably invoke a shield which would probably save my life, if my primitive brain didn’t take over. But riding on a Harley at 70 mph without any protection caused all logic and reasoning to evaporate.
I clutched the rails and prayed we didn’t get in an accident. I’m not a religious man, but I went through the list of gods I knew and made wild promises to them if I arrived in one piece.
“How you doing back there?” Jessica shouted as we took the onramp onto I-36 to Boulder.
“Gaaah…” I think I replied.
“Good?” Jessica glanced back at me and smiled. She turned her attention to the highway and we soldiered on.
Red took serious offense that the Boulder Five—as he called the Boulder Wolfpack—would incriminate the Commerce City Wolfpack on the hit. The Denver Wolfpack and the Commerce City Wolfpack had territorial disputes over the years, but despite Red’s roughness, he didn’t want an outright war. Since the Denver Wolfpack’s members were injured or possibly planning their revenge, Red felt it was only right for the Commerce City Wolfpack to help out their Denver brethren.
Boulder has long been a stronghold for weirdness in Colorado. Famous for “Mork and Mindy,” microbrews, the Boulder Street Mall, and the University of Colorado at Boulder, it still ranks right up there for strange and hippie types of things going on. Boulder is the home to anything trendy, so if you see something odd in fashion or human behavior, you can bet it happened first in Boulder.
To my surprise, we cruised right through Boulder, up I-36, and turned onto Diagonal. “I thought you guys said they were in Boulder.” I shouted in Jessica’s ear.
“They’re in Niwot!” She shouted back.
“Why not?” I said puzzled.
“No, NIWOT.” She emphasized the town’s name.
“Niwot,” I grumbled. “Oh, great. Never mind that they’re trendy werewolves, they can’t afford to live in Boulder.”
“Yep.” Jessica’s smile showed her canines. I shuddered.
We rode down the highway past industrial parks, suburban homes, and even farm land until we came to Niwot Road. At one point, we passed by the big IBM plant, the Celestial Seasonings tea factory, and the Magickal Tea Company factory. From there we drove east on the Niwot Road until we came to an outdoor mall with an insurance agent, a breakfast joint with a sign saying The Good Egg, and a trendy coffee shop with the name Express Espresso.
We slowed down and pulled up to Express Espresso. With the exception of a white Vespa parked outside, the place looked deserted.
“Why are we stopping here?” I asked Jessica as she lowered the kickstand and climbed off the bike. My butt was numb from the road and my legs felt like spaghetti. I was pretty sure my balls were raw meat.
