Oh well, at least he won’t be eating my cabbages anymore.
Letting out a huff of satisfaction, I turned my eyes on the empty field as my breath drifted away on the breeze. Dozens of tiny eyes watched me, their weight like fingers ghosting through the fur along my spine, but no one dared to make a sound. This was my territory, and they were reminded of that fact by the stark splash of blood on snow. Turning, I trotted back to the edge of the tree line, sparing one last glance for my audience before I slipped into the gloom amongst the trees.
I emerged on the other side and paused at the bottom of my sloping backyard to regard my home. The single story log cabin looked warm and inviting, nestled beneath a layer of glittering snow, a thin wisp of smoke trailing from the chimney while the windows cast golden squares across the garden. Trotting between the raised beds that housed my cabbages and other vegetables in the spring, I made my way to the back door. Stopping on the mat I let the dead rabbit slip from my jaws, landing beside my large tawny paws.
The change flowed through me in a cascading wave of overwhelming pleasure that hovered just on the edge of pain. A thousand tickling fingers stroked over me as the fur drifted from my body, carried away on the chill breeze before dissolving into nothingness.
One moment I loomed as a massive brindled wolf, and the next I stood naked and shivering, my nipples erect as much from the pleasure of the shift as from the cold wind that skittered across my skin. Stooping to retrieve the rabbit from the mat, I pushed open the door and stepped into the warm kitchen.
“We’re having rabbit stew for dinner,” I called out, depositing the rabbit in the large farmhouse sink.
I’ll deal with you after breakfast.
Opening his eyes wide enough to reflect the golden light from the fireplace, Loki regarded me with sleepy disinterest, which to be fair, was a pretty permanent fixture on his fuzzy face.
A large and solid Siamese of indeterminable age, he had strolled in through the open door, bold as brass, the day I moved in and staked his claim on my grandmother’s afghan draped over the back of my inherited sofa. That was eight years ago, and he had been my steadfast, albeit lazy, companion ever since.
“Damn cat.”
I stalked past him to my bedroom to retrieve my fluffy pink bathrobe, pausing long enough to give his silken ears a scratch.
Wrapped up in my robe and Killer Bunny slippers, I shuffled back into the kitchen and switched on the ancient coffee pot. Pulling a mug from the cabinet, I trailed my fingers over the familiar wood that my grandfather had carved by hand. I had to marvel at the devotion he must have felt for my grandmother to craft them when he bought the place after they got married. The growl of my stomach roused me from the warmth of my memories, spurring me into motion. After collecting bread and peanut butter to make toast, I poured myself a cup of coffee strong enough to strip paint off a door.
Just as I took the first perfect bite of my toast, humming contentedly as the warmed peanut butter coated my tongue and the roof of my mouth, there was a sharp knock on my front door, the unexpected intrusion startling me out of my hedonistic delight.
What the fairy fart?
I glared at the peeling paint on the back of the door, willing whoever was on the other side to feel my ire. Living in the last cabin at the end of a long dirt road that required four wheel drive for half the year, I rarely had visitors. Rarer still at... glancing at the cuckoo clock hanging next to the fridge I confirmed that, yep, it was indeed seven thirty in the morning.
Every once in a while I got the occasional lost hiker wanting to know how to get back to town, but I couldn’t think who the hell would be knocking on my door in the middle of November. Lingering in the kitchen, I waited in silence, hoping that whoever was out there would just go away. Another, more insistent, knock on the door let me know otherwise.
Washing down my bite of toast with a gulp of coffee, I stalked through the living room to the door, none too pleased that my breakfast had been interrupted. I reached for the handle just as another knock landed on the wood, the strike firm enough to make the door rattle in its hinges.
“Hold on, there’s no need to get your boxers in a bunch!”
Throwing back the lock and opening the door just enough to peek out, a sudden gust of wind sent a column of freezing air straight up under my robe, making me all too aware that I was naked underneath the pink terry cloth.
Through the crack in the door I could see two men that would have looked rather imposing if it weren’t for the fact that their faces were bright red from the cold and their shoulders were hunched up around their ears. Their demeanor screamed law enforcement, and a ball of apprehension settled heavily in my gut.