Marcus Pelegrimas - Howling Legion

“I don’t want any trouble,” the guy said. “I was just waiting for her to…” He was somewhere in his forties, with a full head of hair and a gut that would have hung over a belt if one had been around his waist. Grabbing at the rolls on his hips, he suddenly realized what was already painfully obvious to everyone else. “I…don’t have my pants. Can I just—”

“Get out of here,” Cole snapped. “And whatever you were doing before, don’t do it again.”

The guy looked around quickly and then scampered off in the direction with the fewest people to gawk at him.

“Another happy customer,” the girl said with a grin.

“Take your business where it belongs,” Cole warned. “Right now.”

“Or what?” Mullet challenged.

The Nymar with the eighties hairstyle might have been posturing, but his buddy meant business. Sid crouched down and bared all three sets of fangs in the supernatural equivalent of taking a gun from its holster and thumbing back the hammer.

One of those Nymar was going to pounce at any second. After that, the others would follow. Since turning his back on them wasn’t a smart idea, Cole knew he only had one alternative. He filled his lungs with warm night air, catching a whiff of the hamburgers waiting for him on his front seat, then grabbed the closest Nymar by the front of his shirt. Mullet seemed surprised to be targeted, but twisted to get away while also attempting to swipe at him with his right fist.

One of the first lessons Paige had taught Cole about fighting was to use movement and momentum to his advantage. She’d tested him relentlessly, landing punch after punch until he had learned to anticipate and adjust to every swing. Now that it really mattered, he did exactly what he was supposed to do.

When Mullet pivoted to swing his right fist, Cole tightened his grip on the Nymar’s shirt and turned in that same direction. That way, it took a minimum of effort for Cole to spin his opponent around and slam him against the car. Mullet hit the Cavalier hard enough to dent the door, which wasn’t nearly enough damage to stand out from all the other ugly spots on the vehicle. While Mullet tried to figure out what had just happened, Cole hit him in the face. Other than being very satisfying, the punch only resulted in Cole ripping open his own fist against the Nymar’s upper fangs. Fortunately for him, they weren’t the slender, snakelike fangs. The venom from those would have knocked him out faster than a kick to the head. Thanks to Paige’s sparring sessions, he was all too familiar with being kicked in the head.

Sid let out a snarling hiss as he jumped toward Cole’s back. Having expected that from the start, Cole hopped aside to catch only a glancing blow as the bearded Nymar slammed against the dented Cavalier.

Cole staggered back a few steps, slow to make another move simply because he was surprised to be doing so well in the fight. He wanted to get to his spear, but there were two Nymar pressed up against the door. As much as he would have loved to run around to the driver’s side, he didn’t want to give the others a chance to catch their breath. Putting every bit of muscle behind his left arm, he twisted his body around and drove that elbow into Mullet’s face.

The Nymar’s head snapped back and his knees started to give. Sid had wound up closer to the hood of the car after inadvertently body-slamming his partner, so he wasn’t close enough to get to Cole just yet. Before that situation changed, Cole fumbled for the pistol wedged under his belt. It was a sloppy draw and, if the .44 was anything but a clunky revolver, could very well have turned him into a eunuch. The gods were smiling on him and his goods because he managed to take out the .44 and drive the barrel straight into Mullet’s chest.

“You guys may not be afraid of guns, but we all know how much damage a shot at this range can do to the little buddy stuck to your heart,” Cole said.

“You’d better be real sure about that!” Mullet replied.

Cole thumbed back the pistol’s hammer. “What do you think my odds are? Fifty-fifty?”

Inching his way around the front of the car, Sid hissed, “Do it and we tear you apart!”

“Shut up, asshole!” Mullet barked.

Although Sid was still baring his fangs, his beard covered all but the pointed tips.

Nodding slowly, Cole looked around to find several small groups of people scattered farther down the street. He looked over to the Nymar in pigtails and said, “You stayed put through all of this, so you must not want things to get worse. Wanna tell your boys to back off, or would you rather wait for the cops to get here?”

The girl had her arms crossed and her lips parted just enough to show the top two sets of fangs extending from her gums. The thicker canine teeth slid against the thinner venomous ones in a way that somehow managed to look sexy. The calm expression on her face and the commanding tone in her voice made it clear she was well past the age she projected.

“You two,” she said. “Heel.”

Mullet and Sid weren’t happy about it, but they obeyed.

Uncrossing her arms to hold them out as if she was expecting a hug, she asked, “Is that good enough for you?”

“All of you know better than to be in this part of town unless you’re looking for us,” Cole pointed out. As an afterthought, he asked, “Were you looking for us?”

“We sure as hell found you, didn’t we?” the girl mused. “But we’ll find somewhere else to play. How’s that?”

“As long as it’s away from here, suits me just fine.”

“Good. Are you Cole?”

Upon hearing his name, Cole felt a twitch in the corner of one eye. Fortunately, he was twitching in too many other places at the moment for that one to stand out. “Just get the hell off of my street.”

He had been waiting a good portion of his life to say something like that. Rather than soak up the moment while imagining tough background music, he tried to keep his glare from cracking and prayed the other three would just go away.

They did.

Once the trio of Nymar disappeared down the alley, Cole kept his head down and walked around to the driver’s side of Paige’s car. The seat was still warm from when he’d last sat in it, but it felt like a week and a half had gone by since he was driving along fantasizing about eating his little hamburgers. Although technically trivial when compared to possibly getting his throat shredded, those burgers brought a smile back to his face.

The taste of victory in a little cardboard box.

Cole hadn’t felt comfortable anywhere since he’d seen his first werewolf, but the gutted old restaurant off of South Laramie Avenue was a spot where he could sometimes let his guard down. At one point the restaurant had customers, employees, and a real name. Now, all that remained of the place’s former glory was a sign painted onto the front wall that had been partially worn away by the elements and who knows what else. The letters that could still be seen were: RAZA HILL. He parked along the side of the place, collected his bags of food, and hurried in.

“You’ll never guess what happened,” he sputtered the moment he caught sight of Paige sitting on a stool in the kitchen.

She glanced over to him and asked, “Where are my cheese fries?”

“Remember those Nymar I called about? There were three of them, and I chased them away without any help. Hey, wait a second. You seriously weren’t planning on coming to help me?”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re planted on that stool like nothing happened! What if I got hurt?”

Shrugging, Paige replied, “If you can’t chase off three Nymar, then you’ll never be any help to me. Where’s your weapon?”