Ethan Cotter
The metallic scent of blood lingers, and the coppery taste coats his tongue and mouth,
which only serves to wake his inner beast. On edge, Ethan, still sitting on his motorcycle, scans
the area.
Overgrown brush, comprising mainly mesquite trees, thorny shrubs, and tall grass, comes
into view.
None of the vegetation sets off his senses, not even the lingering blood from a recent kill
holds his attention. Nope, not this time! It's the residual stench of an unknown lycan that sends
his predatory instincts on heightened alert.
Ethan removes his helmet and hangs it off a handlebar.
An early evening breeze blows through his hair, cooling his scalp. The wind brings with it
a familiar scent. One that belongs to a local human rancher.
He engages the kickstand, swings one leg over his bike, then rises to the full height of six-
two. Long strides across the shoulder, takes him to the edge of the ditch.
Sidestepping, he makes his way down, heading for one of several worn wooden posts
holding up the barbed wire fence.
He grabs the lower wire, pushing it down just enough to slip between the created opening.
Once on the other side, he continues his journey to the aged human, Jeb Snyder, standing over a
tangled mass of fur-covered legs less than ten-feet away.
"Thanks for comin' out, Ethan." The man's southern drawl rings in Ethan's ears.
Ethan nods, then he kneels into a squat to inspect the slash marks carved into the abdomens
and necks of the two mutilated calves.
"Anytime, Jeb." Head down, Ethan continues examining the specimens. "I'm always happy
to help a fellow neighbor."
Two sets of legs, eight in all, protrude from a single birthing sack. The outer shell of the
tiny hooves, still soft, feel like rubber bands.
"Did you know she was carrying twins?" Moving a leg, Ethan follows a deep slash over
the abdomen of one of the conjoined twins.
"Yeah." Jeb Snyder spits a wad of snuff-infused saliva. "I suspected as much a little over a
month ago."
"They're small, even for newborns." His eyes shift to the larger of the two, taking in the
three bite marks on the neck. The first or second strike more than likely broke its while missing
the jugular, but the third tore out the calf's throat.
From the amount of pooled blood, the twins must have shared a blood supply. Probably
took only minutes for the younglings to bleed out.
"Betty here wasn't due to give birth for another couple of weeks." Jeb pats the mother
cow's neck, then loops a rope around her head. "Isn't that right, 'ol girl?"
"How'd you find them?" A scan of the dried topsoil revealed the tracks of a few
scavengers, such as a small fox, and a coyote or two, but the larger canine print, the one made by
the rogue lycan, drew my eye.
"When Betty didn't come home, I went looking for her." Jeb coils the rope around his
calloused hand, taking out the slack. "This is the second attack on my property in as many
weeks. Plus, the Taylors had a colt taken down just five days ago."
"I heard about that."
"Well, a few of us landowners are thinking of getting together and hunting the animal who
did this. You and your brother are welcome to join us." He pauses. "It sure is a shame." Jeb
shakes his head. "As a rancher, you expect a loss now and then when food is scarce. But that isn't
the case here. No. This animal isn't hunting for food. Nope. It's killing for the sport."
The phone in Ethan's pocket vibrates against his leg. He rises, fishes the device free, and
then checks the call log.
Cole's number sprawls across the screen. He's Ethan's older brother - or parental shadow,
as he likes to refer to him. "Hello."
"What'd you find out?" Cole's voice booms in Ethan's ear. "Was it a coyote?"
"Nope. Afraid not." Ethan walks away from Jeb.
No sense in a human overhearing the conversation. The content's not meant for his kind's
ears.
"Lycan?" asks Cole.
"Yep." Ethan ducks under the barbed-wire fence.
"You leaving?" Jeb leads Betty to the edge of the property. He leans against a post.
"Yeah." Ethan heads to his motorcycle parked on the shoulder next to the road. "Let me
know when you rally the other ranchers," he shouts over a shoulder at Jeb. "You have my
number."
"I'll call you."
The sun is setting, and soon, it'll be dark. He mounts his bike, then heads off down the
road.
Drawing in a deep breath, he catches traces of the lycan.
Fucking rogue asshole. The words roll around in his head.
Kensington Cove has always had visiting lupines and lycans. But lately, the town has had
more than its fair share of both, especially lycans without a clan. And the Kweo are always more
than willing to add another stray to their cause. That makes the clan unpredictable, unlike his
brethren, the Shoshone.
Hell. If it were up to the Alpha of the Kweo, the masquerade would've ended long ago.
Shadows of darkness dance around him.
He flips on his headlight and adjusts his helmet.
A single beam cuts through the night.
In the distance, the lights of a car peek over the hill. It swerves, and its headlights flicker.
"Fucking kids," he breathes under his breath.
For the last several months, a group of human teens have made the trip down the road to
park at The Point - a bluff overlooking the town - a situation he and Cole will have to remedy
much sooner than later because of the rogue stray.
Ethan slows at the private entrance to his property, then stops.
The twin headlights continue to blink on the winding road.
"Fuck."
Cole will bitch if I don't do something about them.
In the twilight of the early evening, he pulls out and sets a course to intercept the teens.
