Powder Kegs

Oooh, well this is rare. I'm posting something from an actual book in progress. Fancy, huh? This is from Raze Vol 3, enjoy.

I find that most old flames are suited only for lighting powder kegs. So it was probably stupid of me to come here at all. And yet...

It almost looked as though time had stopped when I'd left. She hadn't moved out of our old place. The simple one story building hunched in the shadows of the ancient oaks towering above, a perfect image of the way I'd left it. I'd half expected the gutters to be full, the lawn overgrown, her small Dodge in the driveway to be growing rusted. But everything was maintained to perfection, and I suppose I should have expected no less from her.

This was not to say that things were no different, only that they looked the same. She had gotten another dog since Rhett had died. It must have been indoors, but I could smell its territorial pissings from the tree line. The scent of the place was different; it didn't smell like "us" anymore. I doubted she had a stable companion, but there were old traces, masculine wans lingering behind. A stupid part of me felt jealous about this, like it couldn't remember the nearly seven years that had passed since I'd left.

One window was illuminated an incandescent gold, a rectangular beam of light stretching across the lawn outside. This used to be our dining room. If I craned my neck, I could see that she had replaced our large mahogany dining table with a more personal, modern-style table for two. With her parents having moved out of state while we were together, and mine estranged by my disappearance, she didn't need a seating for family gatherings any longer.

The quiet house suddenly came to life with movement. First, a big, bounding dog - some kind of shepherd mix - bounced enthusiastically past the window in the direction of our - her -kitchen. If I strained, I could faintly hear her laughter and the soft, cooing tones she used to address the dog. I smiled, tail thumping between my legs; she'd always had a way with animals. The jangle of a leash, however, swept the smile from my face. Many dogs reacted to therians the way they would to any large predator: territorial, aggressive, warning. Up a tree for a good vantage point, I was a sitting duck.

Frantically, I began to scrabble down the trunk, only to hear the front door creak open. Almost immediately, the loud, booming barks of the dog filled the silence of the night air.

"What's wrong, Boomer?"

What an amusingly apt name.

"Boomer, no! Hey! Get back here!"

Pounding paws, jangling metal, and the slithering of something dragging through the leaves: that would be the sound of a dog yanking its leash from its owner's hand and dashing off in pursuit of a werewolf. I jumped to the ground just in time for the dog to reach the tree line and erupt into furious, rapid-fire barking as it closed in on its target. I realized with a growing sense of dread that with the dog already at a full run and me just regaining my footing, I couldn't run away fast enough. If the dog attacked me as I fully suspected it would by the familiar aggressive tone to its vocalizations, I was going to end up killing it in order to defend myself and escape. I sighed, then began the undignified climb back up the tree trunk, where I hunkered in the densest boughs that would hold my weight.

The dog stood at the base of the tree, neck craned upwards, teeth bared and pelt standing on edge. He barked, one loud, sharp note after the other. I imagined in dog he was saying something to the tune of "Hey, Estelle! I've got your ex up a tree! Come and look!" which was of course precisely what was going to happen as I heard her clumsy human footfalls drawing ever nearer. Finally, her pale skin was visible through the trees, and she addressed the dog in a stern, scolding voice that made me want to submit.

"That is very bad, Boomer! Very bad!"

The dog let out a low whine, ears drooping and tail hanging slack, but didn't move from the base of the tree nor remove his fixated gaze from me.
Estelle stopped a few feet away.

"Come here."

The dog's eyes flicked her way and he whimpered, sitting down, but continued staring upwards.

"Boomer! I am talking to you, now you come here. You're a very bad dog!"
Boomer stood up, prancing from paw to paw and groaning. He looked over his shoulder at her, then back up the tree, and let out a whiny bark. Estelle heaved a great sigh.

"Ok, what have you got up there? Raccoon again?"

Not quite.

She strode over, squinting upwards in the darkness. Her weak human vision couldn't spot me, and I held still, barely daring to breathe. Perhaps she would lose interest and take the dog back inside... nope, there was the flashlight. Well, fuck. The beam of light snaked up the tree trunk, and I attempted to hunch lower among the branches, vanish into the bark. It was a futile effort; the light bounced off of my feline pupils, and Estelle let out a short gasp. Her brow furrowed deeply as the small circle of light offered tiny pieces of a larger puzzle: a long, canine snout, a thick striped pelt, a humanoid forearm garbed in fur. When the light finally caught the dense mat of dangling dreadlocks at my nape, however, her eyes widened and her lip trembled.

"Trent?" She called out softly, her voice barely a whisper.

My pulse began to race; I hadn't heard her speak my name in so long. Did I dare to reply?

"Trent, is that you?" she said a little louder, focusing the flashlight on my face. I squinted at the brightness and turned away with a huffing sigh.

"Well this is embarrassing," I finally replied, aiming for mirth but a distinct sadness tainting each gruff, barely human syllable.

Estelle let out a long, rattling breath. Her dog let out a confused whine; I heard his tongue lapping against the palm of her hand in a gesture of comfort.

"I'm going to take Boomer back inside... promise me you won't leave?"

I didn't respond.

"Trent, please. I think you owe me as much."

I sighed, ears drooping.

"I won't leave."

But Christ, did I ever want to.