A Bit Aggressive (WereWitch Book 2) Read online

  The two men off to the sides abruptly ripped off their clothing with fast, practiced motions, their bodies transforming, elongating, and sprouting fur even before the suits hit the ground. The man in the middle, the leader, remained in human form and lunged.

  Chaos exploded, and the once-serene, muddy field became a whirlwind of violence.

  Bailey narrowly avoided the pummeling fist of the leader, her dodge to the side allowing the punch she directed at his ribs to land.

  In the midst of the motion, she sensed air rushing past her head and felt the man’s incredible strength. He wasn’t quite as fast as she was, but he had enough raw power that she wouldn’t be able to take many hits if he connected.

  Fortunately, his forward momentum doubled the impact of the girl’s fist against his torso. She bellowed as she struck, her wordless cry of belligerence echoing faintly through the air, and felt a rib crunch under the impact.

  “Ugh!” the man groaned. Bailey was already pushing him aside with her shoulder to engage the werewolf on the left.

  Meanwhile, Roland faced the wolf on the right. In his bestial form, he had silver fur streaked with blue-black, and small, glinting yellow eyes. The magician held his belt taut between his hands and his eyes gleamed, but otherwise, his posture was relaxed.

  The creature tensed to pounce, and Roland struck.

  Some days ago, he and Bailey had gotten into a fight with Dan Oberlin and a few other members of the South Cliff pack in Greenhearth. They’d thrashed the hell out of the bastards pretty effectively—Dan had threatened Bailey with rape—but as it hadn’t been a life-or-death situation, Roland had exercised restraint.

  Which was to say, he’d held his belt by the buckle and used the soft end. But this time they were dealing with professionals, two of them in the forms of monsters that could rip a man’s face off with their jaws.

  Roland released the buckle-end of the belt as though allowing it to drop toward the earth. Midway into its fall, it lashed out at a right angle to its original trajectory, at the same instant the wolf’s jaws came for him.

  The buckle struck the creature in the teeth and gums while Roland sidestepped. Blood and bits of enamel sprayed, and the wolf whimpered as his lunge went awry. He kicked out madly with his clawed rear feet.

  The wizard stumbled back, almost losing his balance as he dodged the flailing strike, and this time the belt buckle shot straight up without any movement of his arm. It hit the beast in the back of his knee joint—not hard enough to break anything, but the blow momentarily disabled the leg. The monster crashed to the ground.

  Fifteen feet to Roland’s left, Bailey had tackled the other shifted werewolf, a stouter-bodied one with thick fur of chestnut brown. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she pivoted behind him, pulling him upward into a bipedal position. He snarled, and his spittle rained down on her.

  One of his forelimbs raked downward to split the skin on her left thigh, but she scarcely felt the pain, rabid as she was with battle-lust. Her knee drove into the creature’s back and she body-slammed him to the ground, punching him in the back of the neck and the shoulder joint, making him yelp.

  Bailey’s breath heaved as she quickly examined the beast. Didn’t look like he would be getting back up anytime soon. For a moment, brief and sweet, it made her feel better about her inability to change. Even in human form, she was a damn good werewolf.

  Then the leader was back on top of her, but Roland was already closing in on him. All his attention was focused on the girl, however.

  “You stupid slut!” he roared. “We’re gonna—”

  Bailey aimed a kick at his balls. He caught her foot in his big hands, grinning savagely, but then Roland’s foot, seemingly guiding itself, landed in the same target from behind. The wizard almost lost his balance as he retracted his leg.

  The leader’s eyes rolled back as a low, grunting moan escaped him. He was still operating on enough adrenaline that the full brunt of the pain hadn’t hit him, but at least he was stunned.

  Bailey ripped her foot free of his grasp, at the same time hooking her right fist toward the man’s massive jaw. It connected just under his ear, hard enough that she probably split a knuckle, and the leader staggered back, dazed, the blow having rattled his brain within the skull.

  Roland spun to return his attention to the silver werewolf, which had struggled back to his feet and was now foaming at the mouth in his need to kill. He launched at the magician…

  Who narrowly avoided the wolf, feeling his fangs trail across the skin of his neck. He guided his belt toward the creature’s back leg as he passed—the same one he’d kicked a moment ago.

  The belt wrapped around the limb, and he jerked back and upward with a sharp, hard motion. Bone cracked, and the creature howled in pain as he collapsed.

  Then suddenly, the belt was again moving like an angry snake, encircling the werewolf’s neck and choking him. Roland took a short hop, his feet landing on the wolf’s stomach before he somehow jumped back.

  As the wolf retched, he whipped him atop the head with his belt buckle, and this time his makeshift weapon followed an entirely natural course. Metal clunked against bone, and the lights in his head went out.

  Bailey pressed her advantage against the leader. Flinging herself at him, not giving him time to recover, she clawed at his face, elbowed his gut, kicked his knees and shins, and interposed her legs between his ankles. As he started to fall, one of his fists landed in her solar plexus.

  “Oof!” she exclaimed. “Oh, crap!”

  The man toppled, giving her a moment in which she managed, barely, not to throw up. His punch hadn’t been full-strength, thanks to his balance being compromised when he threw it, or she might have fared worse.

  As the leader crashed to the ground, Roland appeared next to him and ensnared his feet with the belt. Then, before he could sit up and attack the legs of either of his foes, Bailey was at his side, kicking him in the forehead with a hard stomping motion. His head bounced off the ground before coming to rest, and he sighed and drooled as his body accepted defeat.

  Roland sucked in air and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Mkay then. I think we won.”

  “Yeah,” Bailey gasped, her stomach still screaming at her, “Let’s get the hell out of here. Wait, just thought of something. Get his keys.” She pointed at the leader.

  Nodding, the wizard knelt by the big man’s side and fished in his pockets, one hand emerging with the keyring.

  Bailey gestured toward the BMW. “Drive that thing back. Follow me. Then they won’t be able to come after us. We’ll figure out what to do with the Beamer once we’re back on home turf.”

  “Good idea,” he agreed. “See you in about an hour. You’re okay, right?”

  “Mostly,” she muttered. “I’ll know for sure when we get back.”

  Roland furrowed his brow in concern at that but didn’t question her. He hopped into the Beamer, started it, and waited for her to lead the way.

  She trudged back to her truck and brought the engine instantly to life, then wheeled out into the road, thankful that no sirens were approaching. Roland pulled out behind her, and they headed north and east toward Greenhearth.

  A mile and a half from the site of the brawl, a dark green sedan had parked beside the road across the vast, flat field. Two men stood beside the car.

  Both had been holding binoculars up to their faces. Now they lowered them in near-perfect unison. The people they’d been keeping an eye on had driven away, but they knew where they were headed.

  The man on the right, Agent Townsend, let out a ragged, muttering sort of sigh. He put his binoculars back in their pouch and adjusted the cuffs of his fine dark-green suit.

  “God fucking dammit,” he grumbled. “Our job is never easy. If she keeps running into trouble like this, they’re going to have to send us some goddamn backup and assign the whole operation a higher priority status. I don’t want to think about how many random civilians just saw this whole mess.”

  The man on the left, Agent Spall, similarly returned his binocs to their home and then straightened his tie at the neck. He was dressed identically to his partner, and in terms of facial features, hair, build, and height, the two were practically indistinguishable from one another.

  “Now we get to spend the entire day tracking down every last one of them and making sure they forget. Cleanup duty is going to be a bitch. Again. It always fucking is. But hey, job security.”

  They both sighed and shook their heads, the movements synchronized. They stared across the field at the battered bodies and then at the Tundra and the BMW vanishing down the road and over the horizon.

  At the same instant, both men turned away and made for different parts of the car—Townsend looping around toward the driver’s seat, and Spall checking the front before returning to the passenger’s side.

  A moment later, the car fired up and took off toward the three beaten-up Weres, moving fast but smoothly as it pursued its mission.

  Neither of the agents had noticed a third man who’d been standing a couple of hundred yards to the right.

  He’d been hidden by bushes and a tree in the far reaches of a farmhouse’s property, where even the owner would have had trouble noticing him. If the agents had seen him, he would have simply claimed to be taking a walk and having a smoke, only to notice something strange in the distance and pause to observe it.

  The man was tall and broad-shouldered, in his late forties, with an angular and scruffy chin that protruded slightly from under the deep hood of his jacket. Aside from the chin, his face was mostly obscured. He wore thick, bulky clothes, and the weather was just brisk enough for this to not be unusual.

  He, too, had been watching Bailey and Roland, but he hadn’t needed binoculars. His ey
esight was good enough to follow every detail of the fight, even from more than a mile away.

  A slow expulsion of air from his nose started out as a simple exhalation, gradually becoming a growl—one that was born deep in his chest before clawing its way up into his throat and then out from between his clenched teeth.

  Chapter Two

  Bailey was still keyed up after the fight. She’d been in plenty of scraps before. Usually she calmed down quickly enough once they were over, but some of the adrenaline always lingered.

  And in this case, more than usual stuck around, probably because the people she’d fought were professional criminals who’d wanted to do her serious harm. It wasn’t the same thing as the bar scuffles she was used to.

  Still, relaxation started to set in as the territory before her grew familiar again. They were now most of the way down the mountain highway that would deposit them back in the Hearth Valley, where her hometown lay.

  “They,” meaning her and Roland. The black BMW had remained in her rearview mirror for most of the drive. It occurred to her that he hadn’t volunteered his car for duty ever since he’d rolled into town a week-ish ago. They’d have to have a talk about that.

  Greenhearth appeared before her, looking pleasant but tiny after her recent adventures in Oregon’s two largest cities. A jumbled mix of emotions flowed through her. In a way, she was almost bored and ready for the next excursion to someplace new. Someplace big and loud and exciting.

  Then again, she didn’t think she’d want to stay in any of those places for too long. And it was always nice to be home.

  The town was mostly laid out on either side of the mountain highway, with its minimal suburbs and exurbs spreading out into nooks and crannies of the foothills that out-of-towners found extremely confusing. The lower Cascades rose on all sides, their pine-forested slopes enclosing Greenhearth and protecting it, keeping most of it secret from curious visitors.

  As Bailey drove past the sheriff’s station, she saw Browne standing outside the door. The man noticed her almost immediately and waved a hand—not just greeting her, but signaling her. He wanted her to pull over so he could talk to her about something.

  “Dammit,” she muttered under her breath. “With friends like these…”

  The sheriff had always been good to her, not to mention lenient. From what Roland had told her, in most places, the cops didn’t let people get away with assault and battery on a weekly basis, even when the people who got themselves assaulted and battered had it coming.

  Still, right now, she didn’t feel like going through a “police interview,” even a friendly one. She pulled over into the station’s parking lot, regardless.

  Roland kept driving. At first, Bailey’s gut tightened in sudden anger as she wondered why the hell he was abandoning her, but then it struck her that they might have some trouble explaining why he was in a partially-destroyed BMW without proper certification for the vehicle. She just hoped he went somewhere smart, like Gunney’s repair shop or her family’s house, or the old abandoned farm. Preferably the farm.

  As she parked, she saw the sheriff glance briefly at the BMW, but he chose not to pursue it. Instead, he strode toward her.

  The girl got out, resolving to meet him halfway.

  “Bailey,” he called, “don’t you know that you’re supposed to remain in your vehicle when a law enforcement officer pulls you over?”

  She snorted. “This isn’t a damn traffic stop, Sheriff. I thought you just wanted to have a friendly chat, is all.”

  He almost smiled. “More or less.” He was a big man, both tall and heavy, with thick arms and a bristling mustache. He put his hands on his hips. “Mainly just wanted to update you on the recent situation, and how it affects you. Where’s Roland, by the way?”

  “I dunno,” she said, “I think he’s with my brothers or headed back to the city for the day. I’ll text him later.”

  The man nodded curtly. He had a hell of a poker face, and she couldn’t tell if he was aware that she was lying. Either way, he didn’t push the subject.

  “So,” he began, “first of all, thanks again for bringing our girls back.” Now he did smile, though in a subdued way—warm but not flashy in the slightest.

  She turned her head and scratched the back of her neck, feeling blood swell in her cheeks. “Don’t mention it. Anyone else in the pack would’ve done the same. Well, aside from the assholes who took them to begin with.”

  “Maybe,” he responded. “My deputies tell me the last of the girls was just picked up by her parents. They were out of town for the week, and the kidnappers grabbed her while she was home alone. All the other parents apparently had a nice welcoming party for you, so their kids have already been seen to.”

  Bailey gave a slow nod. The annoying blush had mostly gone away. “Yup. And that’s good to hear. Hope they took good care of her before her mom and dad got back.”

  “I’m sure they did,” the sheriff continued. “I just got back last night myself. Had to stick around Portland dealing with the red tape and all, not the least of which was making sure I could bring Dan Oberlin and his gang back to hold them here, at least for the time being.” He looked into her eyes.

  Bailey stiffened, a sudden sharp pang of both dread and anger hitting her in the gut. “They’re here? In the goddamn town jail? What was wrong with leaving them in Portland?”

  Browne hitched his belt up under his belly. “Can’t have Weres mingling with regular unaware folks, especially not when they’re liable to get into fights and change form in the middle of a prison cafeteria. That would be bad.”

  The girl clenched her jaw, seething with frustration but knowing the man was right. “Okay, whatever. I guess I’ll concede that one. But what about all the other, you know, complications?”

  “We’re dealing with them,” the sheriff stated. “It’s been a real pain in the ass, of course. First and foremost, because now I’m the one who has to look at their ugly mugs and listen to their horseshit.”

  Scoffing, Bailey said, “Yeah, I don’t doubt that.”

  “And,” he went on, “since they’re not going to be seeing daylight anytime soon after what they pulled, I’m now also responsible for their protection. As you can well imagine, most everyone in this valley is less than pleased with them.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t have to imagine that, Sheriff. I know. I’m one of them.”

  “Yeah,” he grumbled. “But the law’s the law. Maybe I can overlook some of your shenanigans, young lady, but this is more serious. Some of the families around here, both in Greenhearth and the neighboring towns, want to bypass the criminal justice system and exact justice of their own—the permanent kind. I’m not aiming to have to explain to reporters and federal investigators why a group of men was murdered in my jail. Even if they deserve it.”

  Bailey sighed. “Fair enough. What about them breaking out? Have you, you know, taken measures?”

  He nodded. “Silver handcuffs and collars. Keeps them nice and uncomfortable, and ensures that they can’t shift. They’ll stay right where they are. And before you ask, yes, it occurred to me that Old Man Oberlin or some of the other South Cliffs might try to break them out. I’ve made them aware that if they try that, far higher authorities than me will swoop down on this town, and they won’t escape their notice.”

  “Okay,” the girl commented. “Sounds pretty good, I guess. We don’t have a proper courthouse down here, though, so I dunno how they’ll handle the sentencing and shit. But whatever; that’s your problem now, not mine. I got things to do, Sheriff, so if you don’t have anything else you want to talk about?”

  He gave her a smile that was almost sour. Frequently his thoughts seemed to be a few steps ahead of whatever was going on in front of him. It was difficult to guess what he was thinking at any given moment.

  “No,” he replied, “that’ll be all. Just stay out of trouble, of course. You and your supposed boyfriend from Seattle both.”

  She nodded and tried not to look annoyed, then turned and loped back to her truck. Behind her, the sheriff was already heading back into the building.

  After climbing into the Tundra and slamming the door, she grated, “Supposed boyfriend. Goddammit. Roland makes one offhand comment just to get the fuckin’ mob of adoring parents off my ass, and twenty minutes later, everyone in the valley is gossiping about it. I should have known.”