Page 11 of Maneater

Our hibernations are short, relatively speaking. However, it took me a long time to settle down that winter. Somehow, I must’ve known. My pa had simply gone to sleep then never woken up.

That horrible day was the beginning of my traveling this world alone. At this point, I’ve resigned myself to the awful truth that I’ll never have someone by my side.

Another sniff and I shake my head as if I’m discarding the annoying thoughts. I have a good life, beautiful territory to live in, and all my animals to love and care for.

Romance is overrated.

I grunt. Sure. Just keep telling yourself that.

* * * *

Thank the gods, I’ve finally hired a new clerk. It took a couple of weeks, but it was worth the wait because he has hospitality experience. When I go to Solstice, he’ll be able to keep Gavin from alienating the guests or leaving the empty coffee pot on all night. Don’t get me started on what a close call that was.

I brush aside the little dark cloud trying to ruin my joy as I climb in my truck after trekking to its location to start my day. Obviously, Darien must’ve found another job. He would’ve come back if he was still interested. I shut the door and grip the steering wheel with a strange surge of frustration.

What was I supposed to do? Call and beg him to come work for me? If he found a place to stay closer to the inn, it was on him to let me know. And for the love of all that is holy, what difference does it make? It’s not as if we were going to become best buddies or… whatever. I grunt.

I’m losing my mind.

With renewed determination to put ridiculous musings out of my head, I pull onto the road. Focus. I have a day off, and it’s been over a week since I’ve had time for an extended outdoor excursion. I’ve only shifted at home, and for an hour here and there to run around with the bobcats and foxes close to the caves. They get very playful in the spring.

But now I not only need to spend the day outdoors, but a perimeter check is long overdue. My territory is expansive, so I have no choice but to begin the inspection early in the day instead of only at night. It’s vital that I make sure everyone is behaving themselves, not bothering the humans, aren’t having disputes with one another, or being hunted out of season.

Whenever I discover poaching, I tip off the rangers. In the old days, we’d take matters into our own hands, but that’s how we created problems for ourselves and how all the rumors of crazed monsters came about.

By the time it’s well past noon, I’ve covered the section closest to home, and have circled back until I’m almost at my cave. Tonight I’ll start on the eastern side, which will likely take all night, and retrieve my truck afterward. Then I’ll need a few more days to completely finish my inspection. But at least I’ll have it out of the way for the month. While I can travel fast on paw, it’s a lot of square miles.

I reach a parking spot a bit off-road that I frequently use. Once I’ve made my way deeper into the forest, I’ll be able to shift unobserved.

However, before I continue my inspection, I need to revel in some outdoor solitude with the soft breeze against my fur and the sounds of birds chirping their distinctive songs. As soon as I step out of my truck, I’m enveloped by the squawk of the jays, the trills of the chickadees, and the gentle coos of the mourning doves. Their music is like a balm to my soul.

I scent the air as I remove my clothes. It’s such a hassle to do the shift with them on. Even though I’ve almost perfected the skill of magically transforming with them on, something always comes back a little off-kilter.

I scent the air once more, verifying that human witnesses aren’t nearby, then mentally tune in to the ancient beings of the forests and mountains, those who direct what exists behind the veil of the third dimension. I give thanks, as I always do, for being blessed with the gift of a dual form and a spirit connection to all living things.

My body fills out, muscles rippling and frame thickening as my fur sprouts from my skin. My fangs elongate, my nails becoming sharp, curling claws that could rip the most formidable foe.

Then there’s the worst part of the shift as horns punch through my skull. Pain isn’t the issue—there’s none to speak of. But I’ve never become accustomed to the pressure in my head as they emerge from the bone.

I allow myself to settle into my changed form, taking a few moments to adjust. My sight is keener, although much more impressive in the dark. I have excellent night vision. My eyes tend to glow red, which is how Howlers have been busted by human campers and hunters over the decades. Of course, the shrieking sex noises when coupling with another Howler in the woods has gained an even larger reputation.

But that’s rarely a concern anymore. Not since I’m the only Howler who hasn’t abandoned the woods for the city. I often wonder how they manage to get away with shifting in populated areas.

My buddy Hoyt, who I grew up with before his family took off, comes back to visit on occasion. He’s spent the last ten years or so in Denver and claims he loves it there. His girlfriend is also a Howler, and they’ve established their own secluded spot in the Rockies for such activity. When winter hits, they remain in their human form to avoid scaring the shit out of their neighbors.

I cross the creek, splashing through the frigid waters. My fur shields me from the cold, and anyway, I’m better off not attempting to navigate my way across rocks. Howlers are bipeds, and between my enormous feet and heavy horns, my dubious center of balance doesn’t allow for rocks that are on the smallish side.

As soon as I cross over the water, the distinctive caterwaul of a mountain lion reaches my ears. I grit my teeth.

What the hell?

I know all the mountain cats within a twenty-mile radius, and they know better than to be in this territory. Even if they’re only traveling through, I’ve established strict rules. Nothing discourages tourism more than cougar or bear sightings. A city camper automatically assumes death and destruction when they spot a giant predator.

Either that, or they try to pet bear cubs or take selfies with a fanged kitty cat in the background. Even the most well-behaved animal loses their shit if someone messes with their offspring. And bears are worse in other ways. How can they resist the temptation of free eats? If the occasional arm gets ripped off or a car door peeled away like it was a sardine can, that’s the price that’s paid.

But all these possibilities add up to a disruption in the order of things. These are my mountains now that I’m the Howler in charge. And I don’t put up with any nonsense. Order needs to be maintained.

I cut through the crowded trees and bushes, stepping on the mashed, rotting leaves still damp from the rain and snowmelt. I keep my crashing through the woods to a minimum, but I’m not exactly stealthy. More than once, my ample girth breaks off a tree branch with a snap that echoes through the woods. Hey, I have to work with what I’ve got. I’m built for brute strength, not graceful exploration.