Short Stories and poems

A Delicate Diplomatic Matter

Matters become delicate when a diplomate is involved.

John looked at the tracks, as Roberta looked around. The werewolf sniffed them. He sighed. “I wish that the security cameras and microphones weren’t acting up,” he said. “This would be so much easier if they were functioning.”

“I know,” the human said. “Any changes?”

The werewolf stood up. “We’re still on the right track. I’m surprised that, as sick as her son claims she is, she’s managed to get this far.”

“Maybe she was meeting someone,” suggested Roberta.

“Possible.” John sniffed the air. “Speaking of which, I do smell someone else nearby.”

Roberta took out a flashlight. “Near us?” They didn’t need the light, but it might blind any troublemakers.

“Not now, but an hour ago, when the tracks were made,” said John. “More importantly, they mingle up ahead.”

“In what manner?” Roberta asked.

John rushed forward. He soon stopped at a disturbed clearing. The scents were very clear. The one scent was of the ill human mare and the other scent was of a very healthy and virile male werewolf. There was the scent of sex.

“Well, hopefully, she had a good time with a friend, and is waiting nearby,” said John, chuckling nervously, not wanting to obviously find an elderly mare that was recovering from having sex.

Roberta chuckled as she came up to the clearing. “I don’t blame you. She’s in her sixties, like my mother. Hard to imagine her wanting to do it, let alone coming out this way to meet up with someone she wanted to do it with.”

“Give her a few minutes to recover, and come back this way, claiming to have ‘gotten lost’ in her old age,” said John, with a chuckle. That was when he sniffed again. “Wait, that’s not good.” He started walking again, towards some bushes.

There, at the base of a tree, was a large pile of recently deposited “fertilizer”.

Roberta looked at John. John looked at Roberta.

They walked up to it. John took out a knife, and started scraping away with it, clearing off a hard object, which was revealed to be a skull. Some more scrapes revealed some teeth. He got out some pliers, and pulled a tooth out. He pulled out a device, and placed the tooth in it. A few seconds later, there was a beeping. He pulled out his phone. He looked at Roberta. “It’s her.”

“What do you think?” Roberta asked. “Was it Murder or Assisted Suicide?”

“I hope that it was an Unauthorized Assisted Suicide,” said John. “Otherwise, it’s Poaching for sure.”

“We are in the Park,” said Roberta. “No Hunting of humans allowed.”

John nodded. “Barring certain extenuating circumstances, of course.” He started sniffing. “I got his scent. Let’s get going.”

“One moment,” said Roberta. She got out a small bottle of what Ferals called Strong Juice, and poured a swallow’s worth over the skull.

“I fear that we might end up dealing with something worse than a vendalg,” said John. “At least those can be placated.”

Roberta nodded. “I’ve heard the stories about what he’s done. I hope that her killer ‘makes things right’ as it were.”

“I hope that he tells him that it was a Mercy Killing or something,” said John. “It’s one thing to want some privacy for a Final Stomach Bath, even doing it in secret, and I hope that’s just what it was – or that her killer is smart enough to claim that lie – it would just cost him a tooth. If it was indeed Poaching, or he doesn’t own up to it, I fear what might happen.”

“As I’ve said – I’ve heard the stories, to say nothing about what we ourselves have seen of him,” said Roberta. She shuddered. “I mean, the killings my father and mother did, most were out of defending the herd. Not Zavier of the Lone Pine herd, and certainly not Zavier Tall Trees.”

“There are days that I wonder how your naming system works,” said John, trying to rid his mind of the memory.

“There’s our Personal name, followed by our Herd name,” said Roberta. “By rights, my father would be called John Wolfe Family Farm – Wrangler – Smith, to name his herd affiliations properly.”

“He always preferred John Wrangler though,” said John. “Most dangerous feral known at the time, and my father caught him.”

“We know why,” said Roberta. “Your father owed my father his life.”

“As he likes to say,” said John. “We’d best get going. We can collect Ziva’s remains later.”

“He must of used a Rapid Digest pill or something,” said Roberta, as the pair resumed walking.

John nodded. “Looks like it.”



They soon came upon the cabins that campers were using.

“If it was a poacher, they were stupid to stay here,” said John.

“That, or arrogant,” said Roberta.

They went to one cabin, John carefully sniffing. “The killer is in there.” They checked their phone. “Rented out to, well, the Ambassador from Russia.”

“Guess he needed a vacation or something,” said Roberta. “Let’s ease his suspicions. I’ll head over to the neighboring cabin, you knock on his door, and when he pokes his head out, ask if he’s seen her, at which point, I’ll knock as well, asking the neighbors if they saw her. Make it look like we’re conducting a search for a lost ill feral, who might be in need of some help.”

“Good idea, as it’s more or less the truth,” said John.

Roberta walked over to the neighboring cabin, looked back at John, and nodded.

John knocked on the door. There was a muttering.

“Chto eto takoye?” a deep male voice asked.

“An Emergency Search and Rescue mission,” said John, guessing at what was said, as he set up the translation function on his phone. “Open the door.”

There were footsteps, and the door opened a crack. There, looking at John, was a black-furred werewolf. “Chto ty khochesh’?”

“Sorry to disturb you, but we’ve gotten reports of a missing feral, who is sick, elderly, and crippled,” said John, using his phone to translate what it had heard. “My partner and I are conducting a search for her.”

The werewolf looked, to see the feral called Roberta knocking on his neighbor’s door, saying the same thing, pulling out a phone, showing them something.

“This is the feral we’re looking for,” John said, pulling up Ziva’s picture. “She went missing a few hours ago.”

“Um, can’t say that I’ve seen her recently,” the werewolf said, their English being very well spoken. “I did a few hours back though. She was very much an interesting partner.”

“How interesting are we talking about?” John asked. “I can smell her on your breath.”

“What are you saying?” the werewolf asked.

“Let’s talk inside, now,” John said, shoving his way in.

“Don’t you know who I am?” the werewolf asked.

“I do, and that’s why we’d best have this discussion where some random feral can’t overhear, and tell one of the most dangerous ferals known to have lived, that you were the one that killed their mother,” said John. “My namesake is nothing compared to this feral, and John Wrangler was known to have killed sixty vampires and werewolves, although proving that is another matter.”

“Why does that concern me?” the ambassador asked.

“Because while most of John Wrangler’s kills, along with those known to have been done by his mate, Bella Wrangler, who killed another sixty vampires and werewolves, were committed for the purposes of protecting himself, his herd, or someone else in need of protection, the more well-known kills from this particular feral, twenty three of them, stemmed from when a group of friends decided to do some poaching of some humans, about forty years ago,” said John. “They went after the Tall Trees herd – nothing spectacular, mostly Ds and Cs in terms of meat grade. Barring one, a pregnant female that escaped, losing an arm in the process, the rest of the herd was killed – drained or eaten – including the female’s mate, parents, and siblings, with a few being under the legal age of culling anyways. The survivor, Ziva, joined the Lone Pine herd, and had a son – Zavier Lone Pine – Tall Trees to give him his full name.”

“Get to the point,” the ambassador said.

“When he was seventeen, he killed a Greater Bear that had attacked the Herd Leader’s daughter, which resulted in him becoming her mate,” said John. “During the joining ceremony, a Hunting Guide showed up, with a group that was together for a class reunion. While the Guide had a chat with the Herd Leader over if they knew of some dangerous ferals, which was nothing unusual where this Guide was concerned, what was unusual was the intensity that Ziva stared at the vampires and werewolves in this party. She marched up to the Herd Leader and demanded that he tell the Guide to leave the group, immediately. The Guide asked why they should do that – she told them – the members of that group were the ones that had killed her herd. She pointed out who had done what, to say nothing about the one that had ripped her arm off. Of course, all but one, who admitted to ripping the arm off of a feral once, claimed to not remember it – as many don’t dwell on the memory of a meal for too long – but she said enough to get the Guide to tell the group that it was clearly best to leave. Zavier listened though, and when the group was sleeping for the night, he snuck into their camp, lifted their wallets, and memorized their information. Over next year, this seventeen, going on eighteen, year-old feral killed each of them in ways that looked like accidents, street violence, and other methods that looked unrelated. Only one of his victims lived, the one that ripped off his mother’s arm, and only because he hadn’t killed any member of the herd – Zavier used a blade that was made with a certain silver-steel alloy, to chop off his arm, a matching wound, if you will. As any werewolf knows, an injury made using silver alloys doesn’t heal too well, and forget about limb regeneration, unless you have a large meal immediately, which he didn’t get.”

“So, why is this Zavier still alive?” the ambassador asked.

“Two reasons – no other vampire or werewolf knew that he did it until a chance encounter between him and his surviving victim here at the park a few years back, and if they knew, no feral would just turn in another feral, unless the other feral posed a significant threat to them or their herd,” said John. “Zavier was smart that way. After what we found out about the killings – which he doesn’t deny – he was placed on a Two-Strike list. Unless his life, that of their herd, or someone they care about, is in danger, he cannot possess a weapon while in the park – not that he needs one anyways.”

“Why wasn’t he killed?” the ambassador asked.

“Reason three – politics,” said John. “His daughter had saved the life of the son of someone who became a mayoral candidate from drowning. Needless to say, to just send the father of the one that had saved their son down a gullet wouldn’t look good for the position he campaigned for. This is because of the fact that, due to her saving a werewolf, that whole line became Protected – surely you have such a thing in Russia, to try to prevent ferals from just killing werewolves and vampires on sight.”

“Da,” said the ambassador. “Some herds are seen as natsional’nyye sokrvishcha – national treasures. They are not to be hunted. To do so, is to risk being executed.”

“Not so different here – kill one of a Protected line, instead of just poaching, like hunting on a park that forbid hunting, or doing so without a tag, it’s seen as murder, and that’s what you’re looking at,” said John. “Ziva was Protected. Zavier though, he is not – kill him off of park property while possessing the appropriate tags, you’re fine. You’ll just have to send in his collar though – it’s the only reason he’s allowed to live – his every movement is tracked.”

“So, do you want me to pay some sort of bribe to you, to keep your mouth shut?” the ambassador asked.

“No, but you are going to do the right thing, follow me and my partner back to those bones, with you picking through all your shit to find them, then we’ll get them cleaned off, wrapped up in a blanket, and in the morning, we’ll go to their herd, and you will give the remains to him,” said John. “Say that you’re sorry, that there was an accident, or something, like maybe she died while the two of you were having fun, that you panicked, and ate her. Then, feeling guilty, you contacted us while we were searching, told us what happened, that we cleaned her bones off, with you helping. Zavier might forgive you, and allow you to be the first to pour Strong Juice over her grave. That or he’ll just yank a tooth, which is a lot better than what he might do, if you don’t have the decency to admit to him that you caused her demise.”

“Do you think that I’m afraid of a mere feral?” the ambassador asked, with a scoff. “I eat humans daily.”

“One of Zavier’s victims was a Marine sniper – had no issues hitting a target a mile away,” said John. “Zavier got him at five hundred yards with a crossbow, in the eye, through the vampire’s own hunting rifle’s scope. Another was with a bomb – he waited until the mark’s husband and kids weren’t in the blast range before he flipped the switch. Another he beat to death with a walking-club. Another he castrated first before gutting them. Another was trapped in a burning building. I could go on. Mind you, he was between seventeen and eighteen years old when he did this. His mother might have helped, though he claimed full responsibility, we guess to protect her, but he was identified as the one that chopped off the one surviving victim’s arm.”

“I still don’t get why you didn’t just kill him,” the ambassador said.

“Because, among others, one of his mates is Sally Wrangler, daughter of John and Bella Wrangler, so there’s some diplomacy to think on,” said John. “My family doesn’t fancy having the Wrangler herd coming after our teeth, given what we owe them.”

“And just what does your family owe a pack of ferals?” the ambassador asked, scoffing.

“The lives of my father, my one brother, not to mention myself,” said John. “Even more, since my father claimed John Wrangler as his, in order to save him – my family believes in repaying debts, Mr. Ambassador.”

“Sounds like your family happens to be full of weak dogs,” the ambassador said.

John’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Ambassador, in the morning, my partner and I, along with Zavier himself, will be back, with the remains,” he said. “You will help us clean the bones off, bury them, pour the Strong Juice over the grave, and say the apologies and such. After that, you can enjoy the rest of your stay, as long as you abide by the rules. Refuse, and you’ll be kicked out of the park before noon, with a permanent Banned From Entry to this park, with the word being spread to those in other such parks, where you’ll receive a similar notice, preventing you from going to them, because you will be seen as a poacher, and parks like this, where vampires and werewolves can safely interact with ferals – playing with them, having sex with them, tasting them and such – do not allow folks with a poaching conviction, or a history for doing so, from stepping foot onto them. Funny enough, this is for your protection, as well as the protection of any other poacher. After all, ferals believe in vengeance, and if they found out that someone, who’d killed a member of their herd for no real reason, was nearby, they will hunt them down, to kill them, unless given very good reasons not to do so.”

“I’m surprised that you care so much for korm dlya sviney,” the ambassador said. “Her remains coming out of my anus probably were an improvement over her eventual fate.”

John looked at the translation on his phone. “Even those destined to be pig feed tend to have relatives,” he said. “If you don’t do as I’ve suggested, Zavier will cause your death, even if it kills him as a result.”

“You act like he’s Babayaga or something,” the ambassador said, with a scoff.

John chuckled, as he looked at the translation. “There was a group of ferals called the Bogeymen, fifteen years back – they liked to kill lone hikers and such – they’d eat the dead vampires, werewolves, and humans. My family, and the Wranglers, along with a few other friendly herds, hunted them down. I snuck along, as did Roberta. First time I ever saw a fight – folks always kept us from watching whenever someone attacked the herd during the times my family visited, as we were told to look after the young ones. Roberta and I got split from the rest of the group, got lost. Bogeymen found, and abducted us. They were going to do horrible things. Then, as if the sprite of John Wrangler was watching over me and his daughter, I beheld a lone feral, that encountered the group, armed with nothing but a walking club. He saw us, demanded that we be set free. The Bogeymen’s leader laughed, and he told some others to attack this loner. He only needed one swing to take out all three of them. He took out the rest, with no help. As for the leader, they were strangled, by their own trophy tooth necklace, those teeth cutting into his throat, making him bleed to death. It was something else, to watch that sort of savagery. That was the first time I’d seen Zavier.”

“So, he saved your worthless hide,” said the ambassador.

John’s eyes narrowed. “I’m just letting you know what you’re in for. Heed my advice, for it will save your life.”

He walked up to the door, opened it, and stepped out. He then walked up to Roberta. “Have a good time?”

“A very polite vampire couple,” said the female human. “Might give them a small bottle of my blood – they were hoping that we’d be able to find Ziva.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” said John, as he looked back at the ambassador’s cabin. “He wouldn’t take the polite route.”

Roberta looked up at the dark sky. “We’d best get inside. I sense a storm coming.”

John nodded. “You and me both.”



The two of them went to their cabin, where John’s sister, Hanna, was looking over Roberta’s infant children, John and Bella.

“They’ve been sleeping,” Hanna said, softly. “Good practice for my upcoming grandbabies and grand-pets.”

“I’m glad that you came to look after them,” said Roberta. “Tobias hates spending time in a cabin, not that I blame him, and Sally is trying to keep Zavier calm. As for Jenny, she’s spending some time with Phil – what she sees in that pet, I don’t really know, but given that he helped to save her, I won’t complain.”

“What did you find out about Ziva?” Hanna asked.

John sighed. “The Russian ambassador ate her, and won’t do things the right way, or even make it look right.”

Hanna gritted her teeth. “He’s been an asshole ever since he came here three days ago,” she said. “He doesn’t seem to understand that I’m happily married.”

John chuckled. “This coming from someone who is more than willing to have sex with any curious human,” he said.

“That’s a different matter,” said Hanna. “I’m merely educating them.”

Roberta rolled her eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Okay, I enjoy having a younger lover, but at least I’m not trying to force them to leave their mates or anything like that,” said Hanna. “He wants me to move to Moscow – uh, no. Not after the incident where they tried to have me eat a pig stuffed with a human type of dish – that goes against my religious beliefs as a Bone Carrier. Granted, it was delicious, but I can’t just eat a human that was raised to be food, not after what I’d seen.”

John watched as his older sister stared out the window, towards the west. There’d been an incident where she’d been taken to a site where hundreds of human children had been illegally drained of blood. Several herds of ferals had burned the place down, after rescuing the surviving humans. After that incident, she’d pulled her tooth out, hung it on a necklace, and never hunted a human for food after that, to say nothing about converting to being a Bone Carrier, who didn’t kill humans to be food. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t eat humans – any trying to kill her was sent down her gullet, to say nothing about the dead, or those asking for a mercy kill – she just couldn’t eat those that were killed just to be eaten, nor could she hunt a human while wearing her tooth necklace. Her travels as a Feral Human researcher had her study humans in person, as opposed to afar. A lot of it was rather eye opening. The general peacefulness of places like the Wolfe Family Park were a far cry of the more brutal nature of feral human lives in general, dealing with poachers, Greater beasts, hostile rivals, and general dangers.

Hanna looked back at John. “I’m going to bunk in an empty cabin. I don’t fancy traveling in that storm.” She then went to the door, opened it, stepped out, and closed it.

John looked out the window – the wind had picked up, and the rain had finally come, pouring down in a deluge. “Good thing we already located the remains and poured Strong Juice on them. Hopefully Ziva will be alright with that.”

“I’m worried about Zavier, and how he’ll react,” said Roberta. “He won’t be happy.”

“Sadly, the park attracts its share of assholes, both literally and figuratively,” said John, with a sigh.

“Well, let’s have some fun and relax a bit,” said Roberta. “I see someone who wants me in them.”

John had to chuckle. “After what we’ve seen, you’re up for a stomach bath?”

Roberta grinned. “Yep,” she said. “Now, get out of your uniform – we don’t need to stretch the fabric that much.”

John smiled as he removed his uniform, as Roberta removed the outfit she tended to wear. John then gave her a kiss, before opening his mouth really wide, swallowing her head-first, his tongue tasting the human’s face, breasts, belly, playing around with her groin, causing her to squirm, slurping up her legs, the feet of which, he tickled, the toes wriggling, before finishing with a few more swallows, the human settling into the werewolf’s belly. He set a timer on his phone, and lay down on the bed, to enjoy the feeling.



The next morning, there was a knock on the door.

“What?” John all but growled out.

“We got some problems,” said Hanna, from outside. “There’s more than a few trees down, and the road got washed out.”

John groaned. “Let me get ready.”

“I’ll give you thirty minutes to get your pants on,” said Hanna. There were footsteps, as she walked away.

“Thirty minutes is very generous,” said Roberta.

John chuckled. “Especially given our current situation,” he said, as he held the human to him.

“You’re the one that wanted to knot with me, first thing in the morning,” said Roberta.

John smiled. “You didn’t tell me that you didn’t want to have sex.”

Roberta chuckled, and kissed the werewolf. “Let’s pick up where we left off.”



Thirty minutes later, John was dressed in another ranger outfit, his prior one being washed. As for Roberta, she was wearing another of her outfits, something made from deerskin. She only wore regular clothing when she needed to, like the one party-thing that they’d practically crashed about a year prior.

They use an UTV along the dirt and gravel road that wound its way through the park, noting the down trees, and, more importantly, where the road had been washed out by sudden and heavy rainwater.

“It’s going to take a few days to fix this,” said John. “At least the guests are here for a few more days – should get this fixed in time for them to leave. Might have to compensate them, like a free visit in the future, but food shouldn’t be too much of an issue – still got plenty of pigs and the like on the family farm that we could slaughter and bring up in our ATVs and such.”

“The problem is the ambassador,” said Roberta. “We were supposed to kick him out, if he didn’t fess up to what he’d done.”

“I agree,” said John. “I doubt he’ll be willing to ride in this thing – folks like him don’t like getting dirty – I’m surprised that he went to meet Ziva.”

“So, what do you think happened?” Roberta asked.

“He doesn’t like the idea of being told what to do,” said John. “Like I said last night, it could have been an accident, it could have been assisted suicide, or it could have been murder.”

They soon stopped at where the bones were. They got out some shovels, a couple of trowels, and a cloth bag.

“If nothing else, we can see to it that she’ll be resting properly,” said Roberta.

The pair dug through the scat, placing the bones in the bag.

“Now, to tell Zavier, carefully,” said John.



The male feral was heavily tattooed. Each meant something to those that could read the script. Like an enemy that they had beaten or killed. Weapons they liked to use. Things that they knew how to do. Their herd loyalty. Status in the herd. There was a collar on his neck, with a tracking device. There was also the tooth necklace. They had relatively few scars, which spoke to how good he was in a fight. Even without a weapon in his hand, or upon his body, one look into his eyes was all any needed to know that he needed no weapon to kill someone.

John looked into those eyes, as an element of fear crept into him, as they looked back at him. Then, those eyes looked down, tears coming to them

“You found her, didn’t you?” the middle-aged human asked, as they looked as the bag. “That’s what’s left of her?”

“I’m afraid so,” said John.

“What happened to her?” Zavier asked.

John frowned. “We’re not sure,” the werewolf said. “We know that she met someone. We know that she had sex with them. We know that they ate her. We also know who did it. What we don’t know is, was it an accident, a planned suicide, or if it was murder.”

“Who did it?” Zavier asked, with a growl.

“I need your word that you won’t kill them while they are on the park,” said John. “That goes for the rest of the herd as well.”

Zavier stared at the werewolf. A growl escaped their throat. “Very well. I won’t kill them while they are in the park.” He looked at the rest of their herd. “Same goes for the rest of you.”

“The Russian ambassador,” said John. “Now, like I said, we don’t know if there was an accident, if it was a planned suicide, or if it was murder. He wasn’t in a talkative mood last night.”

“I could make him talk,” said Zavier. “Give me a pair of pliers and-”

“Zavier, you can’t just threaten an ambassador, without problems befalling everyone,” said Roberta. “It’s a delicate matter, no matter what.”

“That being said, the road was washed out,” said John. “We could use the help in fixing it up.”

“Tell me that you were going to kick him out?” Zavier asked.

John nodded. “That was the plan.” The werewolf looked at the human. “Are you going to help out?”

The human gave a growl. “Very well.”

That was when a young adult male feral entered the camp, and walked up to Zavier, while also looking at John and Roberta. “We might have a problem, one that other herds, and the park guests should be warned about.”

Zavier nodded. “Go on.”

“Found sign of a Greater Bear,” the young male said. “Tracks, scat, to say nothing about what was left of a kill – deer by the looks.”

“Useful to know,” said John. “Thank you, Tim.” They looked at Zavier. “If nothing else, we have a cover for what happened to your mother – Greater Bears have no issues swallowing humans whole after all, along with vampires and werewolves. It should keep folks from wandering off without an escort, especially those that don’t know their way around here.”

“You found grandma?” Tim asked.

John nodded. “We know she got ate, and who ate her, the question is why,” he said.

“Did a poacher sneak in during the night?” Tim asked.

“Russian ambassador,” said Roberta. “Now, you are to leave him to us – we need to find out the why, otherwise he’ll be kicked out of the park. Don’t cause any trouble – you don’t want to cost your father you.”

Tim looked at her, before lowering his eyes. “I’ll do as you say.”

“Now, let’s see who all is willing to help fix the road,” said John.



An hour or so later, the campers, werewolves, vampires, as well as human pets and slaves, were in the cafeteria, where a variety of non-human meats and blood, along with fruits and vegetables, was being served for breakfast.

John walked into the middle of the room. “Morning, campers,” he said. “I have more than a bit of bad news. First of all, last night’s storm washed out the road, making leaving by the average car, truck, SUV, or other similar vehicles next to impossible. Thankfully, we have a small fleet of off-road vehicles that we can use to get to my family’s farm, and either call a cab to take you to a car rental place for those who can’t stay, or let you call folks to let them know that you’ll be staying here a few days longer, for a forty percent discount due to the inconvenience. Those who are already straying, we’ll give you a coupon and place you on a list so that you can claim the same discount the next time you come. This discount will be good for as long as it takes to make the road safe enough for folks to leave. Your vehicles can be retrieved later if you decide to leave.”

There was a certain amount of positive murmuring, with some annoyed.

“Now, I’m sure that you heard that a sick and elderly feral human went missing last night,” said John. “Good news is we found her. Bad news is they got ate by a very dangerous predator, one that doesn’t follow the rules.” His eyes lingered on the Russian Ambassador, who seemed nervous, due to the crowd starting to ask who’d ruin the wonder of the park. “This predator is none other than a Greater Bear, one of the most dangerous predators known to exist. My family has had plenty of experience with these beasts, and let me tell you, they are not to be underestimated. They are more dangerous than you think. To underestimate them is to invite your own death. Thus, stay near the cabins, unless escorted by myself, or someone that’s been designated as a guide.”



The ambassador breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he could come up with a reason to justify what he did.

“It had better have been a very good reason,” said a female voice.

The ambassador looked. Sitting beside him was the one known as Roberta Wrangler. Around her neck was a string of teeth – bear, deer, pig, and other wild or domesticated animal teeth, were on it, along with some from vampires or werewolves, and a couple of humans.

“How did you get those teeth?” he asked.

Roberta chuckled. “The one came from a poacher, who tried to abduct my niece, along with a lot of other humans who were either stolen or improperly procured – I gave him quite the beating. The other came from a disgraced researcher who failed to interview humans for their theory on Homo sapiens familiaris – they were of the opinion that the so-called subspecies got sexually excited during the process of being eaten or drained. That is only partially true – while they do get sexually excited most of the time, it turns out, they are also Highly Dangerous, given the right stimuli.”

“Such as what?” the ambassador asked.

“Let’s start with a danger to those that they care about,” said Roberta. “I’ve done some tracing of my line, and there were always questions about my grandfather’s origins. However, we’ve managed to track down my father’s birth herd, and through them, the story of my grandfather. Apparently, he’d come from a rather long line of livestock, the prior ten generations in fact. I’m sure that you know of the traditional practice of declaring the eleventh generation Free Domesticated – that owner apparently didn’t follow this practice. When my grandfather was fifteen, my great-grandfather gave him his freedom, at the cost of his own life. Years later, my grandfather sacrificed his life to save my father, and my own father later gave his own life in an attempt to save the Wolfe Family Farm herd. They faced death without fear, knowing that they’d die.”

“What about you?” the ambassador asked.

Roberta tapped on the human tooth. “This one tried to force himself upon me. I wasn’t interested. John told him that he was no longer welcome in the park. That one tried to kill John. Well, I protected John – Micha ended up getting a punctured lung because of me, and became John’s shit soon afterwards. As far as I’m concerned, John is a member of my herd, and I was willing to die to protect him.” She then looked at the center of the room, where several ferals had gathered, each with a walking club. “Ah, see the one with the collar, without a walking club, looking at us, or rather, you?”

The ambassador looked, and a chill went down his spine. The eyes that looked at him were as ice in the coldest winter on a frozen lake. They held no warmth in them.

“That one is Zavier, and like John told you last night, he’s the most Dangerous feral currently alive, for he has no issues killing in cold blood,” said Roberta. “Anyone else might kill in the moment, or kill you outright. He’ll make you suffer, slow, painful, make you beg for death, and make you wish that you were never born. You ate his mother. The question that must be answered though is this – Did you kill her? If the answer to that is indeed yes, then the follow up question is this, why? Answer it right, he might let you live. Answer it wrong, he might kill you. Be honest though – Zavier despises liars more than most ferals.” She then stood up. “See you around.”



The ambassador, Sergey Volk left the cafeteria. He couldn’t tell people what had happened between them and the elder feral. No one would understand. After he’d done what he’d did, he’d drank more than a few bottles of vodka, to try to hide her scent. The ranger werewolf smelled her on his breath though. He know that he’d eaten her, but not the why

He went to his cabin. There was a note. It was in Russian. To those who could understand the language, it said, “We need to talk. Meet me where Ziva died.” A sense of dread came over Sergey. Was the feral planning to kill him? The elderly female had been their mother. Even in Russia there were ferals that were known for their savagery, with significantly high bounties upon their heads.

He tried to keep what had happened between him and the feral a secret. Who would even believe him? They wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t understand how she made him feel… wanted. No one would believe that he’d fallen for a feral, one that was dying. A feral that had wanted to be with him, in spirit.

He’d meant to come back with some vodka, to pour onto her bones. The storm though, it had made things confusing in the night, and he’d almost got lost, between it and the vodka he’d drunk. He’d barely made it back to the cabin.

Sergey grabbed the letter, and walked inside the cabin. He went to his bag and got out his Makarov pistol. It was powerful enough that it should protect him from a feral. Being an ambassador had its perks with such things.

That was when he heard a series of gunshots, seven of them. After about thirty seconds, there was another series of gunshots, five of them. Both series of gunshots had come from some fairly powerful guns.

Hiding his Makarov in his holster pocket, just in case, Sergey stepped outside again, and saw a crowd over by the cafeteria. He walked over, and saw the middle-aged werewolf known as Hanna, John’s older sister.

“Hello, Sergey,” she said. “Just in time to watch some demonstrations about just how effective certain guns are on Greater Bears.”

“What brought it on?” Sergey asked, as John picket up a revolver, calling out the name of it, and the size of the round – Piecemaker with a .45 caliber round.

“Oh, someone with a big mouth claimed that they could just go and shoot it,” said Hanna.

John pointed the gun at a target of a Greater beat, and fired it as quick as he could. The head was destroyed. He set the gun on a table. “Unlike some people, I know my way around firearms. Mr. Blackblood, bring yours over here.”

Sergey watched as a vampire carefully came over, and set a case on the table.

“First problem right here, folks is this; Mr. Blackblood isn’t even carrying his gun,” said John. “Thus, he just got ate. Open it. Better do it quick – that’s bear’s coming for your fine blood-wine collection.”

Nervously, the vampire opened the case.

“May I look it over?” John asked.

The vampire nodded.

John got the gun out of the case, and looked it over. “Let’s see, a Glock, with an 18 round magazine that fires .22 LR rounds.” He looked at the vampire. “Do you shoot rats with this thing?”

The vampire looked nervous.

“Now, don’t worry, you might be onto something,” said John, as he loaded the magazine. “Let’s see if we can stop Griz.” He stepped out onto the line, the gun pointing at the ground. “Safety off.”

That was when a bear charged out of a bush, taking many by surprise. John aimed, and started firing the pistol. The bear kept at him, despite the rounds being pumped into them, only to stop a few feet from John. John looked at the vampire. “Give me another magazine, or one of those 40 round things, and maybe this could do the job. As it is, unless you’re up a tree, you just became bear shit – and I doubt that you’re as good a shot as me.”

Sergey looked at the bear, and realized that it was just a dummy on a track. “Impressive,” he said quietly, in Russian.

“You should see his shooting course for Hostile Ferals,” Hanna said, in Russian. “Roberta loves activating the various dummies and traps in that one.”

“Your Russian is pretty good,” said Sergey.

“Spent plenty of time in Moscow, and a few of the other universities in Russia, learning for one degree or later to give a lecture,” said Hanna. “Then there’s communicating with the ferals – you’d be surprised at how intelligent they are.”

“They are fairly intelligent, I’ll admit to that,” said Sergey.

“The question is whether or not you are smart enough to admit what was going on between you and Ziva,” said Hanna.

Sergey looked at her. “What are you talking about?”

“She and her herd have been regulars here for over ten years,” said Hanna. “You’ve been coming here for the last five. Granted, it’s not unusual for folks to make regular trips to vacation destinations, or for feral herds to add safe havens to a migration route. What is unusual is how both yours’ and hers’ stays tend to be at the same time. Furthermore, I’ve used Recognition software to track both of you.” She got out her phone, and pulled up a video.

Sergey watched as he saw himself and the elderly feral kissing each other affectionately, before sneaking off to someplace more privately.

“I spent a couple of hours seeing if there was a connection between you and her,” said Hanna. She frowned. “Why don’t you tell Zavier the truth? That you and her were in love? I guess she told you that she was sick; she only had months to live. She asked you to do it, didn’t she?”

Sergey gulped. “How do you know?”

Hanna smiled. “Female Intuition. She’d had the occasional mate after Zavier’s father, for the times she got lonely, even had a few children, but they weren’t someone she wanted as a long-term mate, like a husband. Something tells me that if I were to look into her social media stuff, which I could do, I’d wager that there’d be plenty of conversations between the two of you, and that they’d be in Russian, not English.” She then pulled up another video. “It seems I’m not the only one besides you that knows Russian.”

Sergey watched as Zavier posted the note upon his door. “What do you think he wants?” he asked.

“Zavier’s no fool,” said Hanna. “He won’t kill you here without a good reason. It’s clear that he wants to talk.”

“Are you sure?” Sergey asked.

“He has given his word to not kill you,” said Hanna. “A feral’s word means everything to them. Unless they have a good reason, a feral isn’t going to just break their word.”

“Useful to know,” said Sergey. “What do you think my chances are with a Makarov?”

Hanna chuckled as she looked down at the slight bulge in Sergey’s pants. “If they’re wearing body armor, it will drop a feral if you put a bullet in their head, if they lack head protection, or heart and lungs if they don’t have armor,” she said. “Against a Greater Bear though, you’ll need more than a few clips, because while they are better than a .22LR, 9x18mm rounds don’t cause enough damage to stop them. You’d need multiple shots in the right spot, just to have a chance at surviving.” She then patted her side. “I prefer the Desert Eagle – that .50 AE round, does plenty of damage, with a decent reload. Still, a Smith and Wesson Model 500 with the .500 S&W Magnum does a pretty good job of putting the creature down, if you got some moon clips to help you reload the revolver, if you’re a bad shot.” She looked back up at his face. “Climb a tree and you might survive the bear long enough for help to show up.”

“Useful to know, if nothing else,” said Sergey.

“You should tell Zavier the truth,” said Hanna. “At worse, he’ll just yank out a tooth, if you tell him.” She then walked away.

That was when someone bumped into him.

Sergey looked, and saw the feral standing next to him.

“We’ll meet after lunch,” they said. They walked away.

Sergey shuddered. The feral had spoken in Russian.



Some hours later, Sergey was in the clearing. If he concentrated, he could smell a trace of Ziva’s scent. His mind drifted to what had happened.

He’d lain on the ground as the one-armed, elderly, and mortally ill feral bounced up and down on him, until they knotted. She’s run her fingers through his fur. Her kisses upon him were something else. He’d licked her. At best, Ziva had a D- meat grade – pig food – but time and sickness had taken their toll, and she was in the F-Grade range, just Fertilizer.

“Are you sure about this?” he’d asked, when she was able to get off of him.

“I’m sure,” she said. “I don’t have much longer.” She smiled. “I brought some of your favorite condiments. It should help with the taste.” She’d gone to a little stash, and brought out a couple of bottles of relish, mustard, and ketchup. She even brought out some buns.

“A favorite American classic,” Sergey had said. “I’m short on beer though.”

Ziva chuckled. “Come back with some Vodka – that will do the job, and would be fitting.”

He gave her a kiss, and started to smear the condiments, carefully placing a bun into her vagina, anus, and mouth in the process. Then, he’d swallowed her, head first. He’s moved his tongue along the front of her body, causing her a lot of pleasure. Then, when he got to her groin, it had only taken a moment to loosen the bun enough to shove his tongue into her vagina, causing her to squirm. Then, he resumed swallowing, tickling her feet before they slipped past his jaws. Then, he sat beneath a tree, feeling her squirm around inside of him.

“Good-bye, Sergey,” she’d said, at one point. “See you in the afterlife.”

“Good-bye, Ziva,” he’d said. “I’ll see you later.”

Soon after that, she’d gone still, and was dead. Sergey had taken a Rapid Digestive pill, and soon enough, released her remains. He’d then gone back to his cabin to find the vodka. He’d just found it when there was a knock on the door. It had been the work of a moment to put on some shorts, and take a swig, but the Ranger knew what had happened. However, Sergey couldn’t admit the truth – no one would believe that one such as him had fallen for one such as her.


“Sergey! Get over here! Now!”

The voice cut through the memory.

Sergey looked, and saw Zavier up a tree.

“Unless you want to be bear shit, get your tail up here now!” the feral yelled out.

That was when Sergey heard another sound, one that forced the werewolf to run towards the tree. Digging his claws into the bark, he climbed up, until he got onto the platform that Zavier was on. He looked down, and there was a massive Greater Bear.

He gulped. “Never seen one that big.”

“I think it’s a polar bear mix or something,” said Zavier. “Probably escaped from a zoo.” He looked at Sergey. “Did you bring your phone?”

“Left it at the cabin,” said Sergey. “You?”

“I don’t like using them,” said Zavier. “I’m tracked enough as it is.”

Sergey sighed. “Weapons?”

“None on me, but I know of a nearby stash or two that has spears and blades,” said Zavier. “What do you got?”

“Makarov pistol, 12 round magazine, and two more magazines,” said Sergey. “I hear it’s not that good, unless you get them in a good spot.”

“Are you any good with it?” Zavier asked.

Sergey shook his head. “I mainly keep it as a deterrent,” he said. “I haven’t shot a gun since my time in the army.”

“Not even to hunt?” Zavier asked.

Sergey chuckled nervously. “I don’t hunt.”

“Hard to believe that my mother could have fallen for one such as you,” said Zavier. “Most of her temporary mates could at least hunt or fight. You though, you’re just a talker.”

“It’s an important job, trying to represent my nation while on foreign soil,” said Sergey.

“Now, you have to speak for yourself,” said Zavier. “What happened between you and her? I’ve pieced together enough evidence to make a good guess, but I want to hear it from you.”

Sergey frowned. “It happened when I first came here. The cabin I was in had a toilet that went bad, so, I decided to use a tree in the woods. She was out for a walk when she caught me taking a shit, by that tree over there in fact.”

“Same one you later left her?” Zavier asked.

Sergey nodded. “I was also a little lost by that point. She led me back to my cabin. We started talking after that. Eventually, it led to more, much more.” He sighed. “She told me about the cancer. Told me how it was in her brain. That she wanted to end her suffering. She wanted things to be special – for it to end where we first met.”

“Did you love her?” Zavier asked.

Sergey nodded. “She didn’t want to see you suffer as her health declined.”

“She should have told me what was going on,” said Zavier. “We could have set things up properly, with a feast, or something.”

“She told me that she wanted it to be quiet, and private,” said Sergey. “She told me that she left a note for you.”

Zavier nodded. “I found it after breakfast.”

“Were you thinking about killing me?” Sergey asked.

“The thought crossed my mind,” said Zavier. “Still, I’d given my word.”

Sergey looked down at the bear. “How long do you think we’ll be up here?”

“Does anyone know where we are?” Zavier asked.

“Hanna knows that we are meeting, and I think that John and the one called Roberta know of this spot,” said Sergey.

“Good to know, but I don’t think that will work,” said Zavier. “The bear knows that it can’t climb, nor reach us, so I think it will try to shove the tree down.”

“Do you have a plan?” Sergey asked.

Zavier grinned. “Are you any good at running?”

“I got up here,” said Sergey.

“Okay, here’s the plan – you distract him – run and shoot,” said Zavier. “I’ll get to the stash, grab a spear or two, and if the bear isn’t dead, I can get it in the heart and lungs.”

“Are you sure that this will work?” Sergey asked.

“Better to die trying than to just end up becoming bear shit,” said Zavier. “After all, I hear that Russians don’t surrender so easily.”

Sergey chuckled. “You have a point.”

“You jump and get him to chase you that way, and keep heading in that direction,” said Zavier, pointing. “There’s a river with a steep embankment. I can get to a weapon stash, and thus should be able to get what we need to kill it.”

“Alright,” said Sergey. “Good luck.” He pulled out his gun, checked it, and jumped. He then started firing at the bear.

The bear, enraged, began to chase after him.

Sergey ran as fast as he could, the bear following him.

A mile later, the bear still behind him, Sergey was out of bullets. He found the river. He was at the embankment, when he turned to face the bear. His claws came out. He wasn’t going to go down easily.

The bear charged.

He was about to counter-charge when Zavier yelled out. “Jump to the side!”

Sergey jumped, and the bear went over the embankment, into the river. Sergey looked down the embankment, watching the bear. The bear looked to be badly injured. He then turned back, and saw Zavier come into view, a spear in each hand. The feral walked up, and passed him one.

Zavier looked down. “We might want to put it out of its misery.”

That was when the sound of an off-road vehicle was heard. John and Roberta came into view.

“Are you two alright?” Roberta asked.

“We are now,” said Zavier.

“I could use a drink,” said Sergey.

John walked over, a heavy-duty hunting rifle in his hands. “Looks like its suffering.” He aimed the rifle and fired. The bear dropped, dead. John then looked at the rest. “Bear meat’s good eating. Want any?”



Some hours later, the camp was enjoying the Greater Bear stew, which, in addition to the bear meat, also had beef, pork, mutton, venison, and other meats, plus carrots, potatoes, and other such things. Some of the vampires were even trying the bear blood.

Sergey was in his cabin. He had to admit that the stew had been good. Still, he looked at the vodka bottle that was in his hand. He wondered where Ziva’s remains were, so that he could pour some onto them. It was what she wanted after all.

There was a knock on the door.

Sergey looked, and saw Zavier. He opened the door.

Zavier looked at him, and the bottle. “Is that for my mother?”

Sergey nodded.

“Follow me.”



They soon came to a patch of dug up earth.

“Here’s her grave,” said Zavier.

Sergey looked at it, and the view. “A good place to rest.”

Zavier nodded.

Sergey opened the bottle, and emptied a shot’s worth onto the grave. “Enjoy the drink, my love.” He then took a swallow, and passed the bottle to Zavier.

The feral took a swallow. “Not bad, for potato juice. I prefer grape and apple mixture though.”

Sergey looked at the grave. “Tell me, those twenty-two that killed your mother’s herd members, who killed them?”

Zavier chuckled. “Let me put it to you this way – I only chopped the arm off the one, and that was because mother was sick that day. The rest, she killed them herself.” He began to walk away. “Somehow, you managed to best the most Dangerous feral alive.”

Sergey followed him. “You claimed the kills though.”

Zavier nodded. “I did it to protect her, just as one should.”

Sergey chuckled. “Hard to believe. A one-armed feral killing that many.”

“One looks after family,” said Zavier. “Thank you, for telling me the truth.”

“So, what now?” Sergey asked.

Zavier looked at him and chuckled. “Might as well tell the rest of the herd, so that they know who you are, and, more importantly, so that you may be counted as a member of our herd.”

Sergey’s eyes widened at this. “Seriously?”

Zavier pulled out a bottle of strong juice, and passed it to him. “Welcome to the herd, father.”