Sheep in Wolves' Clothing

Chapter 6

    More than anything, Kona wished that he could jerk off just once, but his recovering heart wouldn't allow it. Bran had heavily advised Kona against sexual activity for a minimum of one week; however, the stubborn man tried anyway, only to be interrupted by chest pain that frightened him into acquiescence. It was the worst case of blue balls he had ever experienced, and the only way to keep him occupied through it all was texting or calling the members of Nisus who were also hearing the whispers around Neo Atlas.
    The infirmary cot had quickly gotten uncomfortable for Kona's sumptuous tastes. Trashed room be damned, Kona laid in his collapsed bed as his thumbs tapped and swiped with determined accuracy on his phone screen.
    After many hours of contacting other Captains of the sub-bases, Kona received new phone numbers of others like him. He practically interrogated them with callous intrigue; his only goal was to end the source of his suffering. Kona confirmed that whispers derived from the animals, which became clear to him as one of the members he questioned had done their own investigating.
    "It's like," the woman on the other end of the signal struggled to find the right words as she described what she had learned, "I can hear the voices, and when I closely observe an animal, I can see their mouths opening and closing like they're speaking. The only problem is that I don't hear those voices through my ears. I know it should be in my ears, but it's not. Does that even make sense?" The distress in her voice was contagious, causing Kona to tense along with her voice, but the woman took a deep breath and continued to construe the evidence she had gathered.
    Processing the contradicting information, Kona felt the connection of familiarity. The voices from the animals were indisputable, yet disembodied; in contrast, they were also abstract with derivation. What no one could agree on was why only a few of the Nisus members could hear the animals.
    /There's no reports of humans hearing the voices./ Another member texted Kona in the group conversation. /Nothing out of the oridinary in that field, anyway. This has to have something to do with our lycanthropy./
    /If it was our lycanthropy making the connection, then why just us? Why aren't all werewolves hearing it?/
    /I don't know, maybe we have native Indian heritage or something? One with the earth and all that shit?/
    /Bran once said that werewolves were made through magical means. What if it has to do with our sensitivity to magic?/
    /Well, I'm not breaking out into a rash when I hear the voices, so. lol/
    /Shut up, asshole. I'm serious here!/ Kona dropped his phone onto his chest and rubbed his eyes with a weary groan. It had only been four days since he had revived, and getting worked up over a ridiculous arguement was only going to set him back. The sooner Kona could recover and get back on the streets, the sooner he could do his own research on the animals, stop the whispers, and maybe find out where Liali disappeared to.
    That dream had been persisting each night. It felt like a continuation of the previous dream, delvng deeper into the city past recognizable buildings and signs. Kona knew the locations, yet couldn't clearly express what they were; the frustrating endeavors of dream recollection peeved him something fierce. If only he could get some sort of high to relax for a while.
    Nearly jolting at the realization, Kona scrambled to get his phone back into typing position. His thumbs hastily worked the touchscreen to find the desired contacts, typing away a simple request to the two men he knew would help him out in such a situation.
    Several minutes went by before Kona's bedroom door swung open with two familiar faces.
    "Doctors always tell people to get more greens in their diet, huh?" Tobbs shook a bag of weed in the air, grinning as he strolled to the foot of his Captain's broken bed.
    Mike followed behind, carrying a colorful, cactus-shaped bong in one hand. "We've got the best greens in town!" With a firm kick, he pushed the door the closed again.
    Laboriously shifting to sit up in his bed, Kona grinned back at his trusted cohorts, "It's time to hot-box the shit out of this room." If the high didn't distract him from his anxieties, it would at least dull the pain in his body for a time.
    The thick, herbal odor of cannibus clouded the small area of the room in a short time. Its smoke fogged the air as dense as the laughter and music that resounded within the limited space. Kona, Mike, and Tobbs shared recounts of their past missions and the antics that ensued. They were the original members of their team, and Kona's driver and gunman were the ones who introduced the once young werewolf to drugs.
     The three relaxed on the king-sized bed, adjusting accordingly to its off-kilter state, and took hits from the bong that they passed around. Eyes bloodshot and heavy, the three were undoubtedly on cloud nine in terms of chemically induced relaxation. Kona grinned and chuckled at one of Mike's stories about harassing some teenagers that were self-proclaimed witches. There was only one remaining witch known to the cryptid world, and rumors of two others.
     Most werewolves today were unaware of the events that transpired long ago. All they knew was that witches were the reason they weren't welcome in human society. Now, those who contracted lycanthropy wandered as Loners, either finding their own way around the world, or joining the small city gangs such as Nisus or the Mongrelz.
    A tiny voice licked Kona's ear. He had almost ignored it, if the sound hadn't reached him again soon after. "Turn off the music," he bade, reddened eyes narrowing and darting around the room.
    Fumbling with his phone, Mike silenced the music application. He glanced at Tobbs, who was equally as confused, "What's wrong?"
    Kona parted his lips to reply, but heard it once more. He jerked his head in the voice's direction, spotting a scrawny mouse crawling along the floor from out of his bathroom. "Hey," Kona growled at the mouse, receiving a hazy gaze from its bulging black eyes. He froze for but a moment, surprised that the mouse possibly understood him. "What the hell are you looking for, huh? Why are you in here?"
    Watching with bewildered faces, Mike and Tobbs witnessed Kona glowering at a dying mouse. Though his lips parted and moved as though he were speaking, they couldn't hear a damn thing leave Kona's mouth.
    "Our Lady," the mouse wearily answered Kona in its slight voice. It sniffed the air, moving its frail body toward Kona's bed. "She's been taken."
    "Who is she? What is she?" Kona leaned toward the mouse, ignoring the dull pressure in his chest as he tried to remain focused through the high. He knew the answer, but he needed to hear it.
    "Our Lady," the small creature replied, stumbling. "Our unicorn," it collapsed to the carpeted floor in silence, ribcage rapidly expanding and contracting as the mouse strove to continue the goal it instinctually adopted. Then, all at once, it released its final breath, and softened at the mercy of gravity.
    Breath hitching in his throat, Kona stared at the deceased animal with a newfound horror. His face flushed pale, despite knowing the truth in his subconciousness since the day this all began. Maybe he was way too high, and had begun hallucinating. Maybe he had fallen asleep and was having a weed dream. There had to be some sort of excuse so Kona could remain blissfully ignorant.
    "Gross," Mike sneered at the mouse corpse. He slid from his spot on the bed, stooping down to pinch the tiny mammal between his fingers. "You put poison in your room, Kona? 'Thing looks emaciated." He tossed it into the toilet bowl, flushing with disgust.
    The lack of response from Kona worried Tobbs, who watched his Captain with great concern, "Hey, that was pretty weird, Kona. You need to get some fresh air?"
    Kona remained frozen, his eyes boring a hole into the spot that the mouse had once occupied.
    Reaching for Kona's shoulder, Tobbs gave the larger man a firm shake, "Should we get a doc?" He knew that Bran would be pissed if he found out Kona was using drugs so early in recovery, but that water had already passed under the bridge. If Kona was about to have another episode even remotely similar to the cocaine incident, then getting busted for being an enabler as the least of Tobb's problems.
    Finally, Kona sharply inhaled, filling his lungs as he exited his distrait phase. Stumbling over his words, Kona licked his lips as he adjusted his gaze to the two concerned men. "I need Mizou," he breathed, voice trembling as though he had seen a ghost.
    As expected, firm lectures were given about Mike and Tobbs enabling Kona's drug habit. At least they hadn't given him cocaine, which was noted, but didn't reduce the agitation in Mizou, Bran, and Meady's voices. They gathered at the widely ajar door of Kona's bedroom, airing out the room with the air conditioning unit blasting. Meady listened to Kona's heart with her stethoscope, finding nothing out of the ordinary for his condition. Mizou and Bran scolded the troublemakers with firm parental energy.
    "His vitals are fine," Meady informed her mentor once all was said and done.
    "Alright, let me see what's gotten him spooked now," Mizou nodded to the pair of medics before entering the room. He studied Kona's haunted expression, taking a seat on the edge of the bed while everyone else dispersed.
    For several long moments, neither of them spoke. Kona's gaze become distant again, lost in another reality. Mizou took note of the younger man's clammy brow and neck, the way his skin grew rigid with goosebumps.
    "I spoke to a mouse," Kona whispered, breaking the drone of the fan motor.
    Nearly scoffing at the statement, Mizou caught himself. He knew that Kona was having bizarre experiences that were undoubtly tied to animals. "Spoke to it, huh? What was the exchange," he inquired.
    "Liali's in trouble. I got her killed," Kona winced. He wasn't completely certain why he felt so strongly about the unicorn he barely knew, but the guilt coursed through his veins with a frightening chill.
    "Did the mouse tell you that," Mizou asked, trying to garner a concise response from the distraught man.
    Kona only nodded, taking in a deep breath.
    The thought crossed his mind to inform Kona of what had been discovered during the Full Moon Retreat, but Mizou didn't want to put further strain on Kona's heart. He gave a firm nod, mentally piecing together the facts he had learned thus far, "Considering how high you are, I wouldn't take it too seriously. Just rest for now. When you sober up, we'll talk some more."
    Mizou retreated from the room, leaving Kona to regain his composure on his own. He strolled through the halls and rooms of the Nisus main base, reaching an area beyond the offices that housed the Techie room. Mizou knocked on the door before letting himself into the space that was no larger than his own office, and packed tight of computers, monitors, office chairs, and Techies. "Have we gotten any mention of unicorns or the Moonlight Maiden," he asked after clicking the door shut behind him.
    "Zilch," Curtis answered, who was quickly affirmed by the rest of the team in the room. He removed a muff of his headphones from one ear, looking over his shoulder to Mizou. "Nothing since the night Kona met her."
    The Mongrelz had to slip up eventually. They were obviously communicating without technology, and careful not to discuss confidential information anywhere near a camera or microphone. Something had changed within the gang. Despite their typical behavior on the streets, their tactics had notably differed within a short time - coincidentally, around the same time of Kona's last mission. Were the ambushes all a distraction from something bigger?
    The hidden Mongrelz base, surely, was that bigger something. It had only been mentioned once by the insolence of a Mongrelz member who had yet to be seen or heard again. Whatever Jaws was venturing out of Nisus' sight, it was being meticulously shielded from prying eyes and ears. Even the scouts sent out into Mongrelz territory were returning bare-handed.
    "Any insight on the fauna phenomenon?"
    Another Techie responded somberly, "Oh, they're on the trail to something, but the animals are starting to die from malnourishment and dehydration." His dark, thin brows knit together as he pulled up CCTV footage of various streets dotted with smaller animal carcasses.
    Mizou approached the Techie named Rhett, joining the younger-looking man to study the imagery on his monitors. He made note how the majority of deceased animals were of the smaller, hypermetabolic sort; mice, birds, cats, and such. Considering that the phenomenon had begun roughly two weeks ago, there was some survival instinct left within the the animals. Self-preservation seemed to be their lowest priority while in this bizarre mental state. "Choose a living one and track it closely. I want to know every detail of its behavior," Mizou ordered.
    "I've already got a favorite," Rhett smirked. With a few clicks and strokes of his instruments, he had a new window pulled up featuring a cryptid, of all things, wandering a back alley. It was a massive creature with bat wings, a long tail, an unnervingly long and pointed beak, and a singular large eye on the center of its head. Most of the cryptid gripped the brick wall with half of its body while studiously searching every crevass of the area.
    "What the fuck is that?" Mizou sneered at the image before him, partially impressed that an unevolved cryptid still existed these days.
    "This pretty girl is a Snallygaster," Rhett grinned at his General. Someone in the room scoffed after overhearing Rhett had introduced yet another person to his latest obsession. "She's been crawling along shaded alleys during the day, and flying throughout the night."
    Rhett, despite his appearance, was much older than Mizou by about fifty years. His sense of fashion changed on occassion, this time being a colorful, limp mohawk and contrasting frumpy attire. He enjoyed his work as a Techie, mainly for the fact that he had always been a sort of homebody who scoured books and the internet for new information whenever he could. While Rhett may not have the technological genius to compare with Curtis, he had his ways of obtaining and memorizing the most obscure knowledge.
    Rolling his dark eyes, Mizou played along with his former teammate's enthusiasm, "Have you named her yet?"
    "Petunia."
    "Of course you did," folding his arms over his chest, Mizou watched as Petunia perked up, head swivelling, then scrambled around a corner from the camera's sight. A human walked into frame, tossing a bag of trash into the overstuffed dumpster without a clue of what lurked nearby. "And she's exibiting the same behavior as the other," Mizou rolled the word over his tongue before continuing, "animals within the city?"
    Rhett nodded and shrugged simultaneously, "She seems to be more cautious about being seen by humans. It might be that sentience as a cryptid has something to do with that. Whatever is attracting all of these animals, it doesn't seem to have as strong of an effect on her, but Petunia is definitely searching for something out of the ordinary."
    "Keep a close eye on her," Mizou said. "And pick a regular animal to follow, too. We need to compare their behavior."
    "Already halfway there."
    At that, Mizou left the room in search of Meady. He easily found her stocking the infirmary's supply closet, humming a cheerful tune to herself. Mizou's silent steps approached the unsuspecting woman, his much taller figure looming out of view. He had the advantage from the lightbulb hanging further within the walk-in closet, thus not having to concern himself with a casted shadow exposing his advancement.
    "Was your day that stressful," Meady asked with a knowing tone. She had yet to otherwise acknoweldge her mate's presence.
    At first, Mizou was caught off guard by the peculiar question. Racking his mind with what she could mean by that, he realized that his clothes were probably still odorized by the stench of weed from earlier. Mizou chuckled, accepting his mistake, "Just a second-hand high, at best."
    Meady completed her task of organizing and filling the shelf with fresh rags, splints, and other minor items. The advantage of accelerated healing didn't require a great deal of medical supplies; most were meant for short-term use or sanitation purposes. "Well, if you plan to ravage me here, I'll have to put a stop to that," Meady turned around, fluttering her lively green eyes up to Mizou. "You know how I hate my hard work getting destroyed."
    "Am I that predictable?" Blush tinted Mizou's cheeks as he diverted his eyes from the accusing gaze before him.
    Closing the distance between them, Meady slipped her hands under Mizou's jacket. She wrapped her arms around his thin torso in a doting embrace as she raised onto her toes to give her mate a peck on the lips, "I'd like to think our minds are perfectly in sync."
    Mizou instinctively wrapped his arms around the small woman, unable to hide the smile that stretched across his lips. She always knew what to say to dash away his insecurities. With nine years between them, their age difference was one that Mizou had yet to completely let go. He knew that both of them were well into adulthood for such a trivial matter to be negligable, and yet Mizou worried that one day, Meady would be swept off her feet by someone younger than him.
    Not that Mizou didn't trust Meady. He had complete faith in her loyalty. If anything, Mizou worried that she would be missing out on the person Meady truly deserved. That silly woman constantly assured Mizou that she was fully enamored by him, and she loved to remind him of this.
    "Oops!" Meady giggled, exaggerating her sniffing, "Now we both smell like weed. I guess we should go change clothes." The sly grin on her face hinted toward an ulterior motive, and she wasn't worried about hiding it.
    With clasped hands and light feet, Meady pulled her mate along down the hallways to their bedroom. She tittered and fluttered her autumn eyelashes, knowing how riled up it got Mizou. His clouded gaze affixed on her shorter frame said it all. The bedroom door open and closed rather swiftly, only to be repeated once more to place a sock on the exterior handle.
    Their clothes peeled off with ease, some by dexterous fingers, and others by wandering lips. Hot breaths mingled together from sighs, giggles, and groans that resounded from the dark wood paneling. Meady and Mizou fought for dominance over the other, rolling and pinning the other down onto their modestly sheeted bedding. How he craved those plump lips against his flesh, and his thin lips against her's. Their hands roamed and groped, massaging and pinching; a breathless abandon of foreplay that neither of them truly needed.
    Mizou thanked whatever greater being on high for the blessing that was Meady. There were days that he was certain he worshipped the woman, which Mizou knew was everything that she deserved. His hands traced over the adorable freckles that sparsely decorated his mate's pale tummy, haulting to squeeze her genty curved hips in his grip. Mizou pulled her toward him again, grinding his throbbing erection against her succulent cunt that always reminded him of an autumn forest freshly drenched in rain. She was straddling his hips, smiling down at Mizou with every ounce of love she harbored for him. He never tired of such a pulchritudinous view.
    She rode him in slow lopes, savoring Mizou's length as it slid in and out of her soaked loins. Meady's hands explored his chest; fingertips refreshing their memories of every groove in her mate's lean and chiseled body. Her hips rolled like the sway of trees in a summer breeze. Each tremor, every groan, that emitted from Mizou's body was a rewarding experience for Meady. She whimpered in approval when Mizou reached up and groped her small breasts. The sensation of his broad thumbs rubbing and circling her rose-petal nipples forced out a sweet moan from deep within her throat. They shared a soft laugh, soon losing themselves to the entrancing pleasures that continued to build.
    Soon after their mirthful romping, Mizou and Meady rested for a time in each other's amorous embrace. Mizou's spent cock still deep between his mate's legs from the knot that had formed during his climax. They would eventually have another round or two before a relaxing shower to wash away their sweat and coital fluids.
    With refreshed skin, the two returned to their bed to sit in the nude and catch up on the day's events. Meady had been engrossed with removing silver bullets and fragments from Nisus members, which wasn't entirely unusual, but the influx of occurences were concerning. Mizou wished he could tell her of the going-ons behind the scenes, of the secret Mongrelz base he and his team were searching for, but knew that tight lips brought success. One day, Mizou would be able to explain it all, and he trusted that Meady understood this.
    "Maybe, when my project is complete, we can go on a real vacation somewhere," Mizou mused. He had an arm wrapped around Meady's shoulders, holding her diligently against his chest as she fidgetted with his free hand.
    "You say that after every big project," Meady smirked. She weaved her fingers with Mizou's, ever entertained by the size difference of their extremitites.
    Being werewolves was a risky life when going out into public for too long. The full moons were the most hazardous, but the anxieties of dogs yiping away from oneself proved strenuous. Some humans would only shrug off their dog's behavior as a reaction to getting bumped in the large crowds, while others tried to pick fights, thinking that their dog had been struck by a cruel person. It was something about the smell of a werewolf, something synonomous to a pheromone, that triggered such reactions. With how taboo lycanthropy was in human society, it was best to stick together in the shadows of abandoned buildings and criminal activities. Blending in with humans at length had never proven fruitful.
    And yet, that's all that Nisus desired.
    "I was thinking about a tropical vacation," taking Meady's busy hand, Mizou kissed the back of her knuckles. "Someplace without yapping dogs and large crowds." Perhaps he dreamed of a tropical respite because of Meady's decorative faux plants that filled nearly every space available in their room. If there wasn't already furniture in the way, Meady occupied it with a silk vine, flower, or succulent in cute pots and vases.
    "How would we get there? Airports are packed with just those things."
    "Being a werewolf means we have abnormal stamina. So, why not go for a run," he was only half-joking, keeping the option in the back of his mind as a last resort. "Or we could just drive like normal people."
    After a few beats of thought, Meady tilted up her head to look at Mizou with hopeful eyes, "You're serious this time?"
    "I've always been serious. It's just," Mizou sighed before continuing, "hard to get away from here, even for a few days."
    Mizou had been stashing away some cash for the vacation he had always dreamed of with Meady. In his position, acquiring money wasn't difficult at all, but he planned to give his mate every bit of luxury he could access; and with more money came more access. All he had to do now was find that damned Mongrelz base, and infiltrate it for intel. Once that was completed, he could relax and fulfill his promise to Meady.
    Lowering her head, Meady nuzzled into the thin hairs on her mate's toned chest. She smiled, happy that Mizou was still striving for their getaway. He was the one who had brought up the topic first, a couple of years ago. Now, Mizou acted as though Meady was the one who begged him for the bout of relief. Frankly, she knew the both of them could use the time away from gang life, if only to feel human again for a short while.