Animal Behavior Page 4

  Sergei was obviously pleased that she was enjoying the food. He sipped his wine and began to talk. Gwen didn’t know if he was talking to her or just taking advantage of a willing ear and a tongue loosened by wine. She learned that he had been raised by his father in a small agricultural community in Russia. His father did not own the land they farmed, and when he died out threshing the fields one autumn afternoon, Sergei was instantly orphaned and homeless. “That was two weeks before my fifteenth birthday, but I was so big already that no one guessed how young I really was. If they had known, I would have been sent to a state-run orphanage.”

  He shuddered and took another gulp from his glass before continuing his story. He told Gwen that he’d worked for room and board and enough spending money for beer. By the time he was eighteen, Sergei had just passed seven feet tall and was spending nearly every night at the pub. Just when he was beginning to worry that his drinking might lead him down the same path as his father, a couple on holiday from America had walked into the pub and spotted him. The man’s father owned a professional basketball team. Three days later, a trainer had showed up in Sergei’s little village.

  “Years of hard labor had made me strong and agile. The trainer put a basketball in my hands and showed me what to do. It came so easy to me,” Sergei said. To Gwen his voice seemed almost regretful.

  Sergei pulled the final dish from the picnic basket, a blueberry buckle, made—of course—with berries from his farm. It was scrumptious. Gwen licked her fork clean as she listened to the rags-to-riches tale.

  Six months after that night in the pub, Sergei Markov was a professional basketball player with every imaginable trapping of wealth. There were moments he had enjoyed, he said, especially in the beginning. He was never hungry and his bed was always soft and warm. The women were everywhere and available to him with no more than a glance and a nod.

  “But this was empty,” he said. “They did not want me. How could they? They did not know me. They only wanted to find out how big my cock is and see how they could get some of my money.”

  Gwen nearly spit out her wine. She was pretty well set for money—at least for the time being—but she had to admit that the former question had crossed her mind. She felt a twinge between her thighs.

  “Ach,” he muttered, and said something in Russian. “Why can I complain? I have been blessed. For three years I played a game. I was paid much money and with that money I have bought my beautiful farm and my house and my cows and chickens. I have everything I want—all because I was big and strong and could play a game. And now,” he said, gathering up Gwen’s hand, “and now John Chaney’s granddaughter has come home and I have a new neighbor and a new friend.”

  He kissed the back of her hand. Gwen smiled. Friend, huh? Well, so much for learning if the “big feet” myth held water.

  Releasing her hand, Sergei stood and stretched. “And so good night, friend. It is late, and I have chores in the morning. We will meet again soon? I hope you will come to see me.”

  “As soon as I get settled,” she promised, rising to show him out.

  Jezebel lumbered to her mistress’ side and sat down with a HUMPH. Gwen scratched the sweet spot behind the dog’s ear. “I think tomorrow morning old Jez and I will go for a hike. We could use the exercise after three days on the road.”

  Gwen thought she saw a look of concern cloud the big man’s face. “Just be careful. Be alert and stay on the path,” he said.

  Before she could respond, Sergei drew her into a firm but surprisingly gentle hug, then released her and stepped out onto the porch. As he was lacing up his boots, he looked up as if a thought had just occurred to him.

  “Do you play chess, Gwen?”

  “Not a bit,” she laughed.

  He stood and brushed off his knees. “Just as well. Your grandfather was for chess—chess and sitting quietly. You will be my friend for eating and drinking wine, and talking.”

  He didn’t wait for her to reply. He just stepped off the porch and walked down the gravel drive. Gwen thought that with his long strides he could travel the two miles back to his farm in no time at all.

  * * * * *

  Three Years Ago

  The months after Alex met Sergei Markov were a blur. He had sold his practice and his loft in Minneapolis—both transactions were handled by a pack member with a real estate license and unique negotiating skills. Alex resigned himself to settling in Talbot. He had been hired to teach at the Northwoods College of Veterinary Medicine and purchased twelve acres from the pack. He set up a small animal clinic at one end of the property and lived in a travel trailer behind the building.

  Being able to read dogs’ thoughts had allowed him to see twice as many patients and bill twice as much as he had before the change. His bank account had grown exponentially and he’d begun sketching out plans for a modest cottage.

  A local news team had caught wind of the handsome young doctor’s unusual talent for solving behavior problems in dogs and a reporter decided to put Alex’s purported abilities to the test on camera. The interview—which showcased Alex curing a two-hundred-pound mastiff of his aggressive tendencies in a matter of minutes—had become a viral internet video. The tape caught the attention of the Pet Channel and before the next full moon Alex had found himself the star of a new show.

  The network executives were so enthusiastic about the program’s potential—and the lucrative merchandising plans—that they were happy to give in to the host’s quirky list of demands. He would not relocate to L.A. He would only film for six months out of the year and have every fourth week off. He would do limited promotional tours and any post production work was to be completed during his limited work schedule.

  The fan base for The Dog Talker had grown enormous in a very short time. Kids loved it. Animal enthusiasts loved it. And the women—they especially loved it. Alex was uncomfortable with his new rock star status, but he was grateful to have an outlet for his boundless libido. He always felt horny and soon learned that there was a willing female at every turn. They were all one-night stands—almost all of them. Sometimes the trysts would last two or three nights if he was at a convention or on a promotional tour, but mostly he just fucked them and left. Very few of the women objected. He made it clear at the outset of every encounter that he wasn’t looking for a long-term commitment, just a lay.

  He knew he often scared the women. It wasn’t unusual for him to wake up to a note on the pillow stating that, while the sex had been mind-blowing, Alex was just “too intense”, “too focused”, “an animal”.

  Occasionally he’d get an adrenaline junky with a penchant for bad boys. Those women wanted to stretch one-nighters into something more permanent. The unconventional arrangement with Charlene saved him a world of headaches. She seemed drawn to the darker side of him, but had never asked for a commitment.

  Alex had never hurt any of his sexual partners, but he was aware that was only because of his full-moon moratorium. Every time the moon was bright, he made sure he was safely back in Talbot, away from the all-too-willing but completely clueless groupies.

  Alex had spent his first few fourth-weeks under the direct care of the pack’s human consort, John Chaney. Chaney had been ministering to the pack’s unique needs for nearly sixty years and was the only human in Talbot aware of their existence. Sergei explained that every pack had such a human—someone who understood their social structure and “curse”, didn’t judge, and had the unique demeanor to help new werewolves weather the early days of their journey. Most of them were “legacy consorts”, those who came to their vocation by way of inheritance.

  The first month that Alex stayed with the pack had been the hardest. He’d met Sergei just two weeks after drinking the potion and two weeks before the full moon. The big Russian had spent fourteen days trying to prepare Alex for what was to come.

  They’d talked about the physical changes that Alex had already undergone. His size had continued to increase. He’d gained several inches in heigh
t, only some of which could be attributed to his improved posture. His body had become lean and muscular and his strength had grown to unimaginable degrees.

  He first understood how powerful he’d become while helping Sergei around the farm. A cow had fallen into the creek and Sergei instructed Alex to rescue it. Alex had started to head to the barn to get the tractor when his mentor stopped him. “Pull it out with your hands.” Alex had thought the man insane, but he loped down the bank, grasped a horn in each hand and easily pulled the half-ton animal from the water.

  And he was fast. Alex awoke each morning bursting with energy and an overwhelming urge to run. He would fly out of the front door and through the woods with his black Lab, Bob, struggling to keep up. When Sergei had learned of his new morning routine, he had chastised Alex. “You cannot have the citizens of Talbot seeing you streaking through the woods! You have night vision now and you will contain your running to the moonlight!”

  Staying focused had been Alex’s most daunting challenge. Every sense was heightened and every stimulus a distraction. Three days after the spell, he had thrown out his prescription glasses. He could see everything in amazing detail and his vision had become especially attuned to movement. He could pick out a sparrow hopping through pine boughs at three hundred yards. And everything smelled wonderful. If Sergei had a pot of stew on the stove, Alex could pick out each individual ingredient. It wasn’t just stew—it was carrots and onions and garlic, potatoes and meat, salt and pepper.

  The acuity of his nose had become bothersome when he was in the company of women. He could tell which were menstruating, which were ovulating and which were sexually aroused. The scent of female arousal had been a distraction he could barely overcome. Sergei had taught him to keep a small tube of mentholated cough and cold rub in his pocket. When the scents became too much to bear, he could smear a line of the ointment under his nose to mask the smell. The technique only helped to dull his longing.

  Alex’s ears picked up every sound. In the early days, he was so distracted by a rustling sound that he’d had to put down the book he was reading and seek out its source. He’d followed the noise far into the tree line before he’d located the garter snake that had been causing the racket by slithering through the dry leaves. Sergei had taught him how to use a simple meditation technique to focus on the task at hand and let all other noises recede into the background.

  By the time the first full moon of his change was at hand, Alex had only the most rudimentary coping skills. He’d felt like he was a newborn and everything in the world around him was foreign. Everything was magical—and everything was terrifying.

  Chapter Four

  Present

  Gwen glanced up at the pines trees surrounding her as she adjusted the volume on her MP3 player. “Cómo estás? How are you?” she repeated, trying to mimic the native-Spanish-speaker’s voice.

  Jezebel trudged beside her, tongue lolling despite the chill in the air. Clearly, both of them needed more exercise. With twenty-seven acres to explore at their new home, they’d have plenty of opportunities.

  Getting healthy and learning a foreign language topped Gwen’s new list of goals. On her first morning in Talbot, she planned to kill two birds with one stone.

  “Estoy bien, gracias,” Gwen enunciated. “I am fine, thank you.”

  She was concentrating on getting the “r” in gracias right when all hell broke loose and suddenly she wasn’t bien at all. By the time Gwen noticed the cougar, it was upon them, squaring off with Jezebel.

  In an instant, an afternoon stroll in the forest had turned into a nightmare. The cat was huge and he seemed plenty pissed off. Once the initial shock wore off, Gwen was pissed too. The cougar took a swipe at Jezebel, sending the dog flying.

  Instinct and adrenaline kicked in and Gwen charged the big cat, waving her arms and screaming. “Get the fuck away from my dog!”

  When the cat spun around to face her, Gwen stared into his face and in that instant it seemed that there was intelligence behind his amber eyes. The animal was huge and sinewy muscles flexed under the thick fur. Gwen’s stomach knotted and she immediately regretted her impulsive act of bravery.

  Gwen jogged backward and her boot lodged between two rocks. She lost her balance and fell, dashing her head against the hard, frosty earth. Pain exploded in her skull and when she opened her eyes, tiny dots of light danced in her field of vision. Stunned, she groped blindly for something to arm herself with.

  All these years I worried about eating refined sugar and avoiding antibiotics in my chicken and I’m going to die in a mountain lion attack? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!

  Jezebel had scrabbled to her feet and charged the cat. She was barking madly despite the bloody claw marks staining the fur around her neck. The cat turned as if readying to strike again when another set of barks and the shouts of a man issued from the woods.

  Gwen blinked away the fog and saw a black Lab rush into the clearing, followed closely by a hunter. The man pointed his shotgun toward the sky and fired off a warning shot. The cougar snarled and bolted into the underbrush.

  Struggling up on her elbows, Gwen touched the back of her head and felt the goose egg that had already puffed up under her scalp. She brought her hand to her face and was surprised to find that it wasn’t covered with blood.

  The hunter strode into Gwen’s field of vision, glanced at her, then at Jezebel. He locked eyes with the golden retriever for a moment, and the dog quieted and flopped down on her uninjured side. The Lab stood beside his master’s knee and let out a single bark.

  “The cougar is gone, Bob. Go lie down now,” the man instructed and his pet dutifully complied.

  The stranger slid a leather pack from his shoulders and knelt next to the Jezebel, presumably deciding that the dog was in worse shape than the woman. He rummaged through the pouch, pulled out some first-aid supplies, then began tending to the golden’s wounds. He kept his attention on his work as he spoke. “Lady, are you nuts? What are you doing out here alone anyway? And why are you off the trail?”

  “I was…it was… I was trying to… Is my dog going to be okay?”

  The man glanced up. “She’s going to need stitches, but it could have been much worse. I’ll just—” he stopped mid-sentence and craned his neck to the left and right, as if trying to take in all angles of Gwen’s head. He slowly shook his head and huffed, “Are those earphones?”

  She yanked on the dangling cord and it took her a moment to realize that her MP3 player was no longer attached. She shoved the tangle of white wire into her coat pocket. “Ear buds,” she said quietly.

  “Sorry?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  She cleared her throat, “They’re ear buds. They fit inside your ears. Earphones sit on the outside. I was listening to my Spanish language course.” She grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “You know? Multi-tasking.”

  The man looked Gwen over, top of head to tip of toes. “Oh. You’re one of those.”

  She’d been slapping the dirt from her skinned palms and froze mid-clap. “One of those? One of what?”

  “Well, I’m looking at a girl sitting in the dirt with brand new three-hundred-dollar hiking boots—the blisters are killing you, right?”

  She squinted, searching her mind for the right words to fire back, but he continued.

  “Let’s see, the jacket must have run about the same as the boots and I’d bet my left nut that if I searched every last one of those eighty-seven pockets I wouldn’t find an emergency match, a bandage, a compass or even a granola bar.”

  Gwen dug into her right breast pocket and triumphantly held up a foil-wrapped granola bar.

  “Don’t tell me—fat-free, right? Yeah, limiting your fat intake is always a great idea when you’re roaming around in the woods. And speaking of fat intake, it looks as if that dog of yours is about to have a heart attack. I’m guessing that you and the barrel with four legs don’t take too many nature hikes.”

  She glanced over at Jeze
bel, who was lying on her side, still panting.

  The man continued, “And finally, there are the earphones—sorry, ear buds. Who in the hell comes out to one of the most beautiful spots on the planet on one of the most perfect days imaginable—sun shining, breeze blowing, birds chirping and river singing—then shoves those things in her ears and blocks it all out just so she’ll know how to say “Where’s the can?” the next time she goes to Puerto Vallarta?”

  Gwen thought briefly about correcting him. She was, in fact, hoping to go to Ixtapa. Instead, she held her tongue and narrowed her eyes—daring him to finish his thought.

  “I’ll tell you who—a spoiled little yuppie. Thinks she can throw her imported water bottles into the recycling bin, pay four times too much for something stamped organic, whip out her gold card and buy some overpriced clothes off the Internet, then bam, she’s ready to take on the great outdoors.”

  “First of all, I don’t think anyone’s used the word ‘yuppie’ since 1992 and secondly, I’m not some tourist. I spent every single summer here when I was a kid and I used to know these woods like the back of my hand.” She paused to point through a clump of pine trees, “My grandpa taught me how to fish in that river over there.”

  The man jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the opposite direction, “River’s that way.”

  “Whatever!”

  “If you would have been paying attention to your surroundings instead having those things jammed in your ears you might have heard the cougar and your dog wouldn’t be injured. Do you have any idea how much worse this could have been?”

  She could feel the angry tears burning in her eyes. The man looked away briefly and she couldn’t tell if it was out of pity, embarrassment or disgust. He wrapped gauze over Jezebel’s neck wound, looping it between her front legs. She whined when he lifted her shoulder. “Shh,” he soothed, and the dog settled again.