The Weretiger Assassin's Chronicles: Chapter One
© 2009 by Lootah Akecheta
An Unexpected Turn
Rain beat a heavy tattoo on the planks above. You may wonder why I’m under this dock with water splashing over my head in the middle of a thunderstorm. To be honest I would like to know that too, especially when I was on top of it just a few moments ago. I was slowly working my way along trying to keep out of sight of the man I was following when something hit me hard on the back of the head. I glimpsed a tall figure behind me as my body fell in the brink. He wore a long black trench coat, gloves and a fedora pulled low over his face. No skin showed anywhere, but he had long black hair plastered wetly to his coat.
He’d hit me with the butt of an AK-47, which was held tightly in his mitts. The next thing I knew water covered my face and I lost sight of my assailant. Thank the gods I’m tougher than I look. Being a weretiger has its benefits I guess. Being neck deep in sea water in a dirty harbor though is not very much to my liking. In fact it sucks. Tigers may not mind water that much, but I’m still a cat. Worse, my quarry knew he was being followed or at the very least he does now. Either way he got away. I’ll have to pick up the scent again before I can finish the job. However, right now it is best to remain where I am until Fedora leaves. I can hear him pacing up and down the dock looking for evidence of my survival. How the hell did he sneak up on me like that? I didn’t even hear him and that is not an easy feat to accomplish. My hearing is incredibly sensitive. I could probably take him, but he didn’t smell right either. No normal man, that one. Problem is I didn’t recognize his scent. If he is a wereanimal, then he is one I’ve never encountered before. If not, than heaven only knows what he is. Human he is not. How did I know he was male? He smelled testosterone. I could smell the faint scent of male piss on him. It was faint, but it was never the less him.
He stopped pacing. I could hear him breathing just over the roar of the rain pounding down. How can rain be so loud? Right now it was masking my own breath as much as it was his. At least I hoped he didn’t have as good of hearing as I do. If he did, I might be going home with a few slugs in me.
“Come on Isaac. We don’t have all night.” The voice was that of my prey. A moment later I heard the distinct sound of boots marching off towards Jacob, the man I’d been following. I breathed a little easier, but anger seethed up my spine as I watched Jacob and Fedora, aka Isaac, striding down the L branch of the dock heading toward the parking lot. The beam I’d been holding onto groaned under the pressure of my hand. As I pulled my hand down from the beam to swim to shore I felt rather than heard my claws scraping deep furrows into the seasoned wood. This complicated things. I hate complications. They make me work for my pay. I much prefer a simple kill. Kill em and get paid. That’s the way I like it. My clients want me because I’m quick and efficient. I don’t leave a mess. In fact most of my targets are never found and those that are? If I leave a mess, I was paid to make it messy. The fact that Jacob had something more than human working for him threw a monkey wrench into my plans. The good thing for Jacob, I was not paid to kill him, only attack and leave him alive. The client wanted him turned not dead.
I climbed out of the water and shook my now shaggy body. I’d partially turned while I was waiting in the water and now my fur was soaked to the skin. My clothes hung off of me in tatters. I like this form, but I hate messing up my clothes. Most of my ware is nice and expensive, not easy to replace. Taking a deep breath my body shimmered and shifted to full tiger as a deep growl escaped my lips.
I trotted back down the dock and lowered my muzzle to the planks. The scent was much stronger in this form. Jacob’s stink was so strong it almost masked the stranger’s scent, but it was there. It was just as frustrating and tantalizing as it had been when he was standing over me. The flavor was almost familiar, but I could not place it. It was no predator I’ve ever smelled before, but I knew that smell. Where have I smelled him before? A growl of frustration rumbled out my throat as I turned and loped off toward the woods skirting the gravel road leading back to the Pensacola Highway. I might as well stay in this form until I get back to my hotel. I cannot allow myself to be seen in either form right now. Tiger, or a naked man, neither was good choices at the moment and both are likely to land me in a jail of some sort or other – the difference being the local precinct or a zoo. Of course in this part of the United States, I’m likely to be fishing an officer’s bullet out of my hide if they see my tiger.
Within thirty minutes I slowed to a trot as Pensacola’s lights came into sight. The storm passed and the only thing raining now was water dripping off leaves high above. Within moments I was trotting into a small day park on US Rout 90, crisscrossed by boardwalks winding in and out of a tangle of scrub pines and water oaks. The scent of sex was thick as molasses here – mostly man on man. I smelled no women here. Grunts and gasp echoed in my ears as men expressed their pleasures to the night. I like the smells and sounds. I wanted to join in but anyone who saw me right now would run screaming like a school girl. I slowly padded my way through the parks sandy underbrush until I crept up on a couple of men fucking like their lives depended upon it. The younger man, probably in his late teens or early twenties was pounding the older man’s ass. The one receiving was probably around forty-five or so. Dress trousers bunched around his ankles, blazer pushed up high on his back as his eyes rolled back into his skull. Grunts escaped his lips as the young punk fucking him gripped his hips with both hands slamming his hard cock into his hole. “Yea you like that cock don’t you daddy! Tell me you like it.” His breath hissed quietly into the older man’s ears.
“Oh yea, I love that young cock up my ass son.” The two were not related. They smelled different from each other, too dissimilar to be related. I wanted to fuck the young bitch. He was a punk with his surf shorts around his thighs. A white wife-beater tee covering his torso was pulled up enough to reveal his navel. A delicious swirl of hair twisted around his inny trailing down to a very thick dark bush crowning his slab of man meat. The boy was huge, at least ten inches with large balls slapping into the older man’s thighs. I could feel my own desire making it known by my groin tightening. My cock was getting hard pushing its way out my sheath. I wanted to lick myself off, but I was having way too much fun watching these two fuck. The more I watched their balls swinging the more I wanted to bat at them with my paws. It took all I had to keep from trying to play with their swinging nuts. If either of them had looked down they would have freaked. I lay in the palmettos surrounding their clearing no more than two feet from their legs. It was a beautiful view from here. The young man’s cock, shiny and slick, pumped roughly in the other man’s ass. Damn! What a sight.
“Oh fuck daddy! I’m close, so fuckin close!”
“Yea, give it to me baby. Shoot that load for daddy.”
The men were stupid in their lust. There was no condom, they were bare-backing. It may feel better, but a few moments of pleasure is not worth catching a disease. Being a wereanimal I was immune to it, but they were both human. At the last minute the young man pulled his meat out the other’s ass and sprayed his seed all over the older man’s back and ass. Just as his orgasm was drawing to an end he shoved his cock back inside the man’s hole pumping the last few shots deep inside him. His scent burned into my brain. It would be a while before I forgot the pungent smell of the young stud’s load. I hoped I’d be able to find him after my work here was done because I could have some serious fun breaking him in.
The streets were becoming subdivisions now reducing me to darting from shadow to shadow. My motel was only another mile down the road on the bay just past Graffiti Bridge. That of course is the unofficial name for the train trestle. It is an old structure in Pensacola adorned by the local youth’s artwork. The town authorities hate it, but it has become a landmark of Pensacola. I slipped under the bridge working my way down Chase Avenue to the Residence Inn. By the time I reached the parking lot I was human and very nude. It was late so I don’t think anyone saw as I slipped into my room.
Tomorrow I’ll have to hunt Jacob Anderson down again and try and figure out who his muscle is. This was going to take a bit longer than I wished, but I’d get the job done. I always get the job done – one way or another.
* * *
* * *
This concludes chapter one. Please feel free to write to me to share what you think about this story so far. I'm not sure how long I'll make it, but I will continue as people express interest in the story. Again constructive criticism, comments or complements are welcome, but if you just want to flame the story, then I respectfully ask you to keep your opinions to yourself. I may be reached at: firstname.lastname@example.org