Must Love Hellhounds

would stop saying my name.
    “Why are your eyes closed?”
    Because you’re standing next to me. “It helps me think.”
    I felt the heat wash over me and knew he had leaned to me. His voice was a soft masculine rasp, entirely too intimate. “I thought you were trying not to think.”
    I opened my eyes and found the deep smoldering blue of his irises right next to me. I lifted my index finger and pushed his chest. He slid on the Jeep’s hood, distorted by the charged-water engine underneath, and had to jump off, landing with the grace of a gymnast on the ground.
    “Personal space,” I told him. “I protect mine.”
    He simply smiled.
    “How do we get to the house with the dog making shark circles around it?” I asked.
    “Fido doesn’t see that well,” Raphael said. “It took him a while to find the crevice where I was hiding before, and he had to sniff me out. We fool his nose by masking our scent, we can probably get close enough.”
    “And how do you propose to do that?”
    “The old-fashioned way.”
    I sighed. “Which would be?”
    Raphael shook his head. “You really don’t know?”
    “No, I don’t.”
    He trotted off to the side and dived into a ravine. I waited for a couple of minutes, and he emerged, carrying two dark objects, and tossed one of them to me. Reflexively I caught it even as the reek lashed my nostrils. A dead, half-decomposed cat.
    “Are you out of your mind?”
    “Some people roll in it.” He grabbed the dog carcass and ripped it in a half. Maggots spilled. He shook them out. “I prefer to tear them and tie pieces on myself. But if you would prefer to rub it all over your skin, you can do that, too.”
    All my fantasies of touching him evaporated into thin air with a small pop.
    “Hunting one-oh-one,” he said. “Didn’t your pack ever do the hunts in Texas?”
    “No. I wasn’t in that kind of pack.” And I had fought my way out of shapeshifter society before it was too late.
    My face must’ve showed my memories, because he paused. “That bad?”
    “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    Raphael reached to the backseat and pulled a roll of cord we kept there. He uncoiled a foot-long piece and tore the tough hemp rope like it was a hair. “You don’t have to do it,” he said. “I keep forgetting you’re not—”
    Not what? Not normal? Not like him?
    “—properly trained. I’ll be back shortly.”
    He wasn’t better than me. Whatever he could handle, I could deal with as well.
    I picked up the roll of twine. If I had been straight bouda, like my mother, I would’ve enjoyed all of the enhancements Lyc-V brought, but even though I wasn’t as strong as a regular shapeshifter, I could handle the damn rope. I tore a piece, sighed, and pulled the cat apart.
     
     
     
    “It’s a good thing I’m part hyena,” I murmured, moving along the bottom of the ravine. Bits of the cat corpse dangled from me, strategically positioned on my limbs and suspended from a cord off my neck. To a human nose, all decomposition odors were similar, but in reality each corpse gave off its own specific scent just as it did in life. And this particular carcass reeked of something nauseatingly sour. “If I were a cat, I’d probably die of the stink and the sheer indignity.”
    “You know who can’t handle it?” Raphael scrambled up the slope like a gecko. “Doolittle.”
    “The Pack’s doctor?” Even carrying my Weatherby, I made it out of the ravine faster than he did. What I couldn’t match in strength, I made up in agility and speed.
    “Yeah. Badgers are very clean. In the wild, foxes sometimes steal badger burrows by sneaking into them and crapping all over the place. The badger is so prissy, he’d rather dig a new burrow than clean his old one up. Doolittle will do open-heart surgery if he has to, but hand him a chunk of a putrid cadaver and he’ll run for the hills.”
    An echo of a growl washed over us. He clamped his mouth shut. We’d reached the dog’s hearing range.
    A few minutes later we went aground on the edge. Several ravines converged here, forming a gap almost wide enough to enclose a football field. The house sat in the center of the gap. Two stories high, with a row of white columns supporting a triangular roof, it looked at us with twin rows of windows blocked by dark shutters. Its black front door stood closed and so did the doors of the cellar on the left side. A ten-foot-tall fence topped with coils of barbed wire guarded the house.
    As we