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a face that was a disturbing mélange of vulpine and hominid features. “Ripper! Cover!” it growled.
    Johnny tried to run, only to be tackled by one of the pack. The werewolf was slighter than the others, with short, pig-like bristles that scraped against his skin like a brush. It perched itself on his back and grabbed his head between its furred claws, pulling on his ears until he cried out in pain.
    A second werewolf, this one with longish fur that hung about its bunched shoulders like a lion’s mane, stood up on its hind legs. “Keep him quiet, Ripper,” it snarled. “We’re not in the woods.”
    The smaller werewolf jerked Johnny to his feet, squeezing his pinned wrists in a vise-like grip. As Johnny opened his mouth to cry out, one of the larger beasts, this one sporting a spiked crest along its hackle, filled it with a rubber ball.
    The cream-colored werewolf fingered Johnny’s keffiey as it grinned at him, licking its lips with a long red tongue. “Nice scarf,” it growled.
    The small, bristly werewolf giggled.
    Johnny was certain the thing meant to rip his throat out then and there. He shut his eyes as he didn’t want the sight of his own blood to be the last thing he saw. Suddenly the scarf was whisked away in a single yank.
    â€œMake sure it’s good and tight.”
    The smaller werewolf quickly and expertly fastened Johnny’s wrists together behind his back. Johnny knew enough about knots to realize that it would take time to work himself free if he was to escape. He re-opened his eyes and saw the spiky-haired werewolf, along with one that boasted a white blaze, devouring what little remained of the German shepherd. They grinned up at Johnny, exposing sharp, their yellow fangs flecked with blood and gristle.
    â€œHurry it up!” growled the cream-colored werewolf, kicking the beast with the spiked hackle, causing it to yelp like a frightened dog.
    The werewolf called Ripper twisted his arm again, causing Johnny to swoon from the pain. Sharp talons pierced his clothes, digging into his flesh, as he was dragged down the alley to a pair of parked vehicles. One was an old Volkswagen microbus, the other a Toyota minivan. The rear lift gate of the minivan was hanging open. It was too dark to make out the name of the band painted on the side of the microbus, but Johnny knew who they were. He’d known ever since he glimpsed the hint of a wolf’s head tattoo under the fur of the cream-colored werewolf’s left hand.
    The werewolf called Ripper tossed Johnny into the back of the mini-van like a bundle of old newspapers.
    â€œSorry, sis,” leered the cream-colored werewolf. “The male we caught got away. Hope this will tide you over.”
    The thing in the van moved forward, sniffing at the air like a bloodhound. A twisted talon covered in white fur reached out and caressed Johnny’s face. The palm was dry and hot and felt like a catcher’s mitt he’d once had as a boy. Johnny screamed into the dead dog’s chew toy.
    The werewolf bitch removed her mirrored sunglasses as she idly fondled her middle tits. “It’ll do.”

Chapter Four
    Skinner fidgeted in his seat and tried not to brush up against the obese woman in the purple polyester knit pantsuit beside him. This was easier said than done as she clutched a large straw handbag that jutted into Skinner’s space a good three or four inches.
    His mother’s funeral was a week ago, and now he was once again on a bus—but not headed back to school. He had decided his formal education could take a backseat to self-knowledge. His mother had left him a couple thousand dollars in her will. Not much, but enough to buy a bus ticket to Arizona. Luke had tried to talk him out of it, but they both knew he was wasting his breath.
    Although part of him felt betrayed that his mother—or, rather, the woman he’d grown up calling mother—had not told him the