Marisa Chenery: Jagers Mate

Jager silently followed the lone wolf who walked up ahead of him at a discreet distance. He kept his gaze locked on the other werewolf’s back while he wove his way through the people who shared the sidewalk in this busy section of downtown San Francisco. More than a few of the buildings that lined the street were restaurants, bars or nightclubs. Jager had followed the lone wolf out of one of said nightclubs.

He’d gone to the Hot Spot, which had been anything but after Leif, his brother-in-arms, had heard a rumor going around about a lone wolf trying to recruit other lone wolves for a new cause at this particular nightclub. Leif had come by this information from a bar he liked to frequent to pick up female werewolves who were unmated and wanted to share their beds for a bit of fun. In some ways, Leif’s womanizing paid off when he came across a bit of information such as this.

Jager watched the lone wolf duck into an alley between two buildings at the end of the street where most of the crowd had thinned. Increasing his speed, he quickly followed. Once he was inside the alley, Jager opened the front of his long black duster and brushed it to one side as he reached for the hilt of his sword. It made a slight hissing sound when he pulled it free of its scabbard. Taking a quick look behind him to make sure no mortals were able to see him from the opening into the alley, Jager stealthily walked halfway down the passage. It was quite dark, but with his keen werewolf sight, he could see just as well as if it were day time instead of night. Only one weak, exposed light bulb shone above a door that opened up onto the alley. His steps slowed when he caught the glint of light that suddenly flashed in his eyes. At the same time, he heard a sword being drawn. A smile spread across Jager’s face. It looked as if this lone wolf wanted to play. And that he carried a concealed sword on him, it more than likely having been strapped to his back under his leather jacket, marked him as one of Miles’ recruits.

The average werewolf didn’t carry swords nowadays.

The sound of a low growl drifted over to Jager after he came to a stop a short distance away from the lone wolf. He looked the other werewolf over. Like all of his kind, the lone wolf was taller than the average mortal, but he was about an inch shorter than Jager, which put him at about six foot eight. He was muscular as well, but Jager figured he had a few extra pounds of muscle on him that the lone wolf didn’t have.

Strength-wise they would be pretty close, but it all came down to how well the lone wolf could handle his sword. Jager planned to beat his ass, but he hoped the altercation would last longer than a few seconds. There was nothing more that Jager enjoyed than a good sword fight. Just the thought of it made his blood pump a little bit faster through his veins.

“So, lone wolf, you think you’re man, or should I say, werewolf enough to take on the likes of me,” Jager said as he moved closer. “I’ll give you fair warning. You point a sword in my direction you better know how to use the damn thing.”

The lone wolf snarled and growled menacingly at the same time. “Let me guess. You must be one of the Protector’s who watch over the foretold one. Miles warned us about you.”

Jager chuckled. “I’m sure he did. Yes, I’m one of the Protectors. And did dear old Miles tell you that he used to be one of us before he decided to go bad?”

“Miles told us how unfairly he was treated while he was one of the Protectors, and how he was given no choice but to leave and try to find the foretold one for himself.”

Jager snorted. The only way Miles had been treated “unfairly” was when it had been decided by his grandmother, who had brought all the Protectors together, that his sister, Saskia, would lead them instead of him. Miles had been so enraged that he hadn’t been chosen to be their leader he had forsaken his sister and his grandmother, swearing he would be the one to find the foretold one and use him or her for his own benefits. Now that Roxie had come forward and declared herself as the foretold one, Jager and the rest of her Protectors knew it would only be a matter of time before Miles made his move.

Raising his sword, Jager let his gaze run over the gleaming blade before he pinned a hard stare on the lone wolf. “Enough of the idle chitchat. How about we get down to business? The night isn’t getting any younger, and I’m itching for a fight.”

Instead of answering him, the lone wolf growled once more and took the first strike as he closed the distance between them. Jager easily blocked the blade and took a strike of his own. He felt a surge of hope that he might actually have a worthy opponent when the lone wolf circled out of range at the last minute. Grinning widely, Jager swung his sword up to meet the lone wolf’s next blow. Fun and games were definitely on.

Daylen Reardon drove her police cruiser down the busy downtown street. She looked from right to left as she did her regular patrol. She didn’t expect any trouble, but with the bars and nightclubs on this particular street, there was always a chance she would come across a few patrons who had indulged just a little too much. If Daylen spotted an individual weaving down the street, she usually pulled over to make sure they had an alternative means of getting home besides getting into a car to drive.

She had been a cop for the last five years and loved the job. When she put on her uniform and strapped on her gun, she knew she was doing a service for her city to help make it a better place. Not that she thought she did it all by herself, but she liked that she was doing her part.

Nearing the end of the street, she slowed the cruiser preparing to take the next left in her circuit. Daylen happened to glance out the passenger window at an alley sandwiched between two buildings. What she saw had her hitting the brakes and pulling over to the curb.

After she turned off the cruiser’s engine, Daylen got out and locked the door behind her. As she made her way slowly to the entrance of the alley, she pocketed the car keys and pulled out her flashlight. Turning it on, she aimed the beam of light at what she thought she saw. The alley was semi-dark, but Daylen had always had pretty good night vision. When the light from her flashlight hit the middle of the alley, she knew she hadn’t been imagining what she had seen from the cruiser.

With the flashlight still held in her left hand, Daylen unclipped the holster in case she needed to draw her gun while she quietly approached the two men who were going at each other with a pair of swords. Now this wasn’t something she saw every day on her patrols.

Daylen didn’t call out to the men, deciding to wait until she was a bit closer. As she slowly walked nearer, she could hear growling sounds that sounded all too animal-like to her. They were mixed in with the sound of the men’s swords clashing. The men themselves were big brutes. One had short black hair, was well over six and a half feet and wore jeans along with a black leather jacket. He appeared to be the one making the growling sounds as he swung his sword at his opponent. The other had long light brown hair pulled back in a pony tail, was just a bit taller than the other man, and wore a long black duster over his dark jeans. Daylen also noticed he had an expression of glee on his face, and a smile that seemed to get wider with each blow that came at him.

Daylen shook her head. They had to be a couple of kooks. At first, she thought the swords couldn’t be real, but when the black-haired man ended up catching the blade of the other man’s sword across his cheek and blood welled, she had her proof that they were. Just what she needed, a pair of crazies whacking at each other with real swords.