Skinwalker

Found their scent hanging on air. Mixed with smell of sex, sweat, chocolate, wine. Above. On ledge. A private balcony with an open door—her thoughts. A hotel, an expensive one. Room beside theirs contained only faint people scents. Empty. Dark. Doors closed.

 

Single leap over balcony railing, tail spinning for balance. Table, two chairs took up floor. Dropped between them, bumping table. Pot rattled, rolled for edge. Rose fast. Caught in front paws, held still. Released pot, which settled. Crouching in dark, I/we listened.

 

“You have to go soon?” Rick asked, his voice lazy.

 

“Why? You miss me already?”

 

“Always.” Lies in tone of words. Human lips made smacking sounds. Kissing.

 

Silly thing, kissing. Licking better. But the sound made Jane sad. Angry. I hacked softly. Take him. Hunt him. She fell silent.

 

Bed creaked. Scents of sex spilled into night: sweat, semen, hot breath, scent of flowers. Chemicals of Anna-human perfume, stink of detergent, fabric softeners. Also, faint, was part of mad one’s scent and blood. Anna-human had been blood meal to it recently, after it fed enough to hide rot scent from human nose. Though Anna-human water-washed, I still smelled it, hidden under chemicals.

 

Ahhh, Jane thought, excited. It only smells of decay when it’s hungry. That’s one reason the scent signature is so complex. Why didn’t I figure that out?

 

Jane not Beast. Not good hunter. I made quiet sound—sheeeeghhh—inhaling, pulling air over tongue, over scent sacs in roof of mouth. Anna-woman not fertile. Yet mated. Confusing humans. Strange. Scent of mad one was also strange. Had new, different parts. Still mad one but not. Confusing as humans mating out of season. Sound and smell of sex ended.

 

She thought, Soooo. It eats flesh to hide whatever is happening to it that makes it stink like rot? But why is it rotting? You said it was sick. . . .

 

“I still don’t understand why you want to talk to him,” Anna-human said.

 

“Business, baby. A deal big enough to take you away from him.” Smell of lies on words. “You heard what my friends said today. We need to know about those land purchases.”

 

She sighed, pouting. “I’ll try to get you in to see him.”

 

Another lie. More kissing sounds. Stinks on wind. Sex without mating is always lies. Humans cannot smell lies. Sad.

 

“I’d better go. It’s a long drive into the country,” she said. “Unless you have energy for . . .” More kissing. Low laughter. Smell of sex rising.

 

Deep within, Jane went silent. Retreating. Beast thought of mouse in garden. Should have stayed. Played with it. Small snack, fresh and frightened. Better than this.

 

Low moaning, laughter, whispers on air.

 

She was angry. I growled, soft. I/we should hunt, kill man. Kill mate who was not. Some, in past, crossed into my territory, giving signal to mate. Appearing again, again, yet only teasing. Memory of claws raking rump of one. Blood welling in hide as he flipped. Dashed from my hunting land. I huffed in remembered satisfaction. She smiled, amused, less sad.

 

Mating took long. Far longer than any beast’s. When it was over, Anna-human left bed. Showered off scent. Rick didn’t shower. Carried her scent on him. They left room. I listened, tracking them as they moved through hotel. A car pulled away from parking garage, her scent on it. Rick walked on street, passing beneath. Gone. I leaped to walkway below balcony. Followed, Jane’s interest rising. He walked two blocks, turned down side street.

 

His bike rested in small lot. I crouched tight beside wall and small porch, watching, listening. Rick stood, half in shadow, half in light from tall pole. He held out piece of paper. Sleepy human hidden in dark reached out. Took it. Money. “Thanks, man,” Rick said.

 

“Anytime, Ricky-bo. You get lucky?” Sex in question, leering. Hidden human stood, a lighter shadow on night.

 

“Don’t I always?” Pride and amusement in question.

 

“Details, man. I want details.”

 

“Not this time, Paco.” Rick grinned, his teeth white. “Maybe next time.”

 

“Come on, man. At least tell me if it was that high yaller gal. You say she put you down like a fighter pro. I didn’t figure you’d get lucky with her anytime soon.”

 

“Not her.” Man-grin in tone. “But I’m working it. Part of the game, my man. Part of the chase. But the girl’s not high yellow. She’s Cherokee, I think.”

 

“Yeah? I hear them Injun gals is hot after it.”

 

“We’ll see.”

 

Curled my lips, showing teeth. Jane not part of game.

 

Rick bumped fists with Paco, dropped helmet over head, and straddled bike. Started it with turn of key. Over growl of machine, he said, “Later, my man.” Wheeled bike around, over uneven pavement into street. Bike’s roar grew louder. Turned north. Hunter instinct gave destination. He headed toward her house. Her den. Go home! she commanded. Fast!

 

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