Nick paused for a moment, reaching over and tapping Tiffany’s side with the back of his hand.

  Her eyes shifted from squinted focus to slightly wide, her expression melting from an at-the-ready snarl into her usual poker face. Her tail dropped slightly as her fur settled, claws retracting.

  *Shliiiink.*

  A slight twitch ran through her ear, followed by one of her usual odd muscle spasms as she looked down at him, puzzled.

  "Yes?"

  "Look, I know I’m the new guy here, but wouldn’t it be better to hide—temporarily—until we know what we’re dealing with?" he whispered.

  She rolled her eyes. She was never much of a strategist—charging in headfirst had always worked well enough—but what he said made sense.

  *This is going to take some getting used to… I’ve got someone else to consider besides myself for once,* she thought, huffing.

  *Uhhhg.* "Fine. Holster your weapon and keep quiet."

  Nick hesitated briefly but conceded.

  As soon as he did, Tiffany scooped him up under her arm, placing a hand gently over his mouth.

  *Heymmph!*

  "Shhh," she hissed quietly, keeping her hand firm as she squatted—then launched them both into the dense tree canopy.

  *Mmmphff!... grrrr....*

  Nick muffled a noise of brief surprise as they shot upward, followed by a growl of disapproval—but he quickly relented again as she landed gracefully on a high, sturdy branch.

  She crouched low, waiting for the noise and scent to finally come into sight.

  They didn’t have long to wait before three figures emerged from the brush—one carrying both a man and a woman over his shoulders.

  The short, stocky man handled the two unconscious adults with unsettling ease.

  Tiffany recognized him instantly—dirty dress pants, a sweat-stained white dress shirt, suspenders. It was the same man from the evening before the party, when he and his friend had interrupted her training.

  His creepy work partner was with him. He didn’t look tough, but his presence made her fur bristle and shudder—somewhere between fear and deep, cringing unease.

  Tiffany’s gaze drifted to the third figure—a young woman, unusually tall, slender yet hovering on the border between toned and buff. Her skin carried the same pale white shade as Tiffany’s human form, dusted with red freckles. Long, flowing orange hair was pulled back into a braided ponytail.

  Unlike the others, she was dressed in what Tiffany considered *normal* for this area—tight blue jeans accentuating her hips, a checkered black-and-red plaid button-up worn unbuttoned and tied around her ample cleavage, showing off both that and her toned stomach.

  *Mrrrffle.*

  Nick quietly growled, reminding Tiffany that she still had her hand over his face.

  She broke her focus from the trio, looking down at her passenger that she had tucked under her arm like a human sack of meat.

  "Oh—sorry," she muttered, quickly removing her hand from his face.

  Nick exhaled sharply, glanced down at the troublesome trio, then at the two unconscious humans slung over the short man’s shoulders like duffel bags full of dirty laundry.

  "So...what's your thoughts on the three?" Nick asked with a whisper. Tiffany furrowed her brow, looking at the tall skiny one. "I don't like that one, but i should be able to take him no problem. You should be able to handle the short fat one." she said nodding twards the one holding the two humans. About that time the tall wirey fellow started being obnoxious to the short fat one, playfully kicking him in the rump.

  "Oi there, shortstack—what d’ye reckon we do with yer half, eh?" Francis asked with a devilish grin, his Irish accent thick and heavy.

  "Dunno, bud. Ya talkin’ 'bout the freakin' money or what?" Danny replied in a Brooklyn accent as thick as he was wide.

  "Ah no, halfpint—I’m askin’ which o’ them sacks o’ meat ye fancy, eh?" This caused the tall female standing behind Danny and Francis to perk up in a somewhat unpleased way.

  "Oye now, ye said we’d let ’em off—turn ’em loose near the city so they’d just think it was some mad dream, yeah? Don’t tell me yer plannin’ to eat the poor feckers, are ye?" she asked, glairing at Francis.

  "What the feck d’you care, wench? We only brought ya on for backup an’ guard duty!" Francis snapped, shooting her a scowl sharp enough to wilt even the toughest of combatants.

  But the tall woman stood her ground, eyeing Francis with steely resolve.

  "And if I fancy takin’ a nice bite outta this rack o’ lamb, then by gods, I feckin’ will," he added, slapping the rump of the unconscious male—causing the human to stir.

  Her left cheek twitched as her face began to redden. She stepped toe-to-toe with Francis, glaring down at the wiry six-foot-one man. Her fingernails morphed into hooked claws, flexing open and closed with barely restrained fury.

  "Ye so much as lay a hand on ’em, and I’ll tear a chunk outta the other side o’ your face—to match what’s already missin’, so I will."

  Nick and Tiffany exchanged a glance, then looked toward the boiling mess.

  “I think we should intervene,” Tiffany said to Nick.

  He gave her a puzzled look. “Why? I say let ’em fight it out and grab the hostages... What do you see that I don't?” Nick asked, sensing there was something she knew that he didn’t.

  She inhaled deeply through flared nostrils, releasing a quiet huff. “I have a hunch. Those two reek of blood—a lot of human blood. But she smells clean,” she said, motioning to the slightly tallest of the three. “She’s also standing up for the humans... Sometimes, you can’t judge by first appearances.” Her voice dropped to a low, husky tone as she turned to Nick, giving him a wink that turned him nearly as red as she was.

  “Let’s go see what we can do to alleviate the situation,” Tiffany said.

  Nick, still tucked under her arm, began to grumble, but she clamped a hand over his mouth again as she silently dropped to the soft, grassy ground a short distance from the humans and the suspects.

  Crouching behind a large oak, Tiffany gingerly set Nick down. He immediately wiped his tongue.

  “Bleah... I think you got some fur in my mouth,” he quipped quietly.

  Tiffany just smiled, her tail swiping across Nick’s face as she turned back to observe the three individuals. He grabbed the floofy offending appendage—gently but firmly—eliciting a soft “wooof!” from Tiffany.

  She spun from the feuding pair to glare at him with a scowl. Her thin, dark lips curled into a warning, revealing wet, pearly white canines as a reverberating growl rumbled from her throat. Nick quickly released her tail and threw his hands up in a half surrender.

  Snorting, she huffed a hot burst of air from her nostrils into his face, fluttering his hair. With a satisfied nod, she assessed the point was made, and they both silently turned back to watch the chaos unfold between the two supposed team members.

  Meanwhile, Francis merely smiled as she glared at him, his grin unwavering. With his hands tucked in his pockets, he glanced down at his shoe. She followed his gaze—just in time for his foot to catch her jaw. The blow launched her into a somersault, flipping end over end—twice.

  In a single, precise motion, Francis hopped up and caught the back of her head with his heel. The crack of bone on impact echoed with a low *thunk* through the heavily forested area. She landed face-down with a loud *thuck,* her face slamming into the dirt. Francis stomped hard on the base of her skull for good measure—his hands still buried in his pockets, that same wry grin never fading.

  “You son of a bitch! That’s no way to treat a lady!” Nick shouted, swinging a punch that connected squarely with Francis’s face, drawing a thin ribbon of blood from his nose.

  “Da feck?” Francis muttered, rubbing his nose in surprise. “Who de feck are yo—” *crack*!

  Before he could process who—or what—Nick was, a massive red-furred fist blurred past Nick’s head and collided with Francis’s face, caving it in slightly. Francis flipped end over end until his back slammed against a tree, landing upside-down. He slid down the trunk until he came to rest on his head, feet still pointed skyward.

  Nick glanced at his own fist with mild disappointment, then turned to Tiffany as she motioned both hands toward Francis in a deadpan magician’s flourish, as if revealing a trick.

  “See? That’s how you land a punch,” she quipped, all poker face.

  Nick chuckled. “Sorry—not all of us are naturally gifted at Hulk Smash moments.”

  Danny just stood there, still clutching the humans—eyes wide as dinner plates—trying to piece together what had just happened in mere seconds.

  “Um... guys, I’z don’t know who yous are, but I don’t want no trouble,” Danny stammered, arms shaking overhead as he strained to keep the two limp bodies balanced on his shoulders.

  “The two unconscious humans on your shoulders would probably disagree with you—if they could,” Tiffany replied, poised and ready to spring.

  His hands twitched.

  *Click—shffk*! Twin guns snapped from his sleeves, locking into place, trained squarely on Tiffany. A smug grin tugged at his lips—overconfident and twitchy. The guns began to glow, emitting a steady *whiiiirrrrr—* that grew louder, charging up.

  Tiffany tensed to move—then stopped, waiting. *I can dodge anytime... Those two Noisy Cicadas take a while to charge. He—Nick needs a confidence boost,* she thought calmly, eyes locked on Nick.

  Nick met her gaze, reading her silent message: *You got this. I trust you.* Danny’s attention remained fixated on Tiffany, ignoring the human flanking him. Nick saw his opening—and moved.

  He dashed forward at full speed. Danny turned to fire, but he was too slow. Nick ducked under the line of fire, surged in close, and uppercut him square in the jaw.

  *Crack.* A tooth shot from Danny’s mouth.

  Danny crumpled to the ground, clutching his face, a stream of incoherent obscenities pouring from his busted mouth as he rolled across the leaves. The guns powered down and retracted into his sleeves. The human hostages slipped off his shoulders and collapsed into the leaf pile—still unconscious. Above them, a burst of orange, red, and brown showered down in a flurry of autumnal chaos.

  Nick jumped at the chance, exaggerating Tiffany’s behold gesture, sweeping both hands toward the writhing, leaf-covered mess that was Danny with deadpan grandeur.

  “Like this, O great Sultan of Smash?”

  Tiffany let out a growling snort of laughter, barely holding back full-blown hysterics at his absurd display and impeccable timing.

  She crossed her arms, tapping an index claw thoughtfully against her muzzle, as if judging a particularly difficult dessert round on a cooking show.

  “I give you points for the safety of the humans,” she said, gesturing toward the leaf-covered bodies. “But... I’m deducting points for him still being conscious.”

  She added, strolling over to Danny and casually bringing a hind paw down on his skull. Thud—out he went.

  Nick blinked. Damn—she was a beast. Inside and out. Power, precision... and total control.

  “There. More like that.”

  She gave Nick a slight, sardonic bow—left hand touching her chest, right arm splaying outward in extravagant flair.

  “And I award you twenty points for effort.”

  “Points? What are we, Hogwarts now?” he snickered.

  Tiffany looked puzzled, her face flicking through questioning glances toward Nick.

  He leaned in, patting her gently on the lower back with a smile.

  “It’s okay. Sounds like we’re going to be roomies, so maybe we can watch the box set—if I live through the night.”

  Her confused expression turned serious—and fast.

  “If it’s within my power, no harm will befall you,” she said, her voice steady and full of resolve, looking down at him with a seriousness that made Nick’s heart melt.

  “That’s... comforting—you sound like you have your doubts, though,” Nick joked gently.

  “I mean what I say. I’m not going to make a false promise that you have my absolute guarantee that nothing will happen.”

  She paused, eyes softening as she chose her next words carefully.

  “I only say that out of respect—for you, and for my integrity. You, of all people, should know... we’re not promised tomorrow. But I’ll promise to try my hardest to make sure we make it back home safe for... what do you call it? Netflix and grill?”

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Nick blinked. “Netflix and what now?”

  She nodded, completely sincere. “You know—watching movies, eating something delicious, maybe falling asleep on the couch. That’s what humans usually say, right?”

  Nick opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Close enough,” he said, lips twitching. “Let’s just get through this first.”

  The topic moved on, but the phrase stuck in his head like a catchy jingle.

  Netflix and grill.

  Then she said it again.

  “When this is over, I want a whole weekend of Netflix and grill. No missions. No stress. Just meat and movies.”

  Nick gave her a look. “You keep saying that…”

  She tilted her head. “Saying what?”

  “That phrase. I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

  She squatted beside him, ears perked. “It means movies and meat. Obviously.”

  He hesitated, then leaned in, voice low and conspiratorial, and whispered the adult meaning of “Netflix and chill” into her ear.

  Her eyes went wide, her crimson-furred face shifting a whitish pink for a brief moment. “Wait... what?! That’s what it means?! I just wanted tasty treats and movie binging!”

  Nick snorted, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, I figured. But you might wanna be careful who you say that to.”

  She looked horrified, ears flattening as her tail curled around her ankles like a guilty noodle. “That’s so misleading! Why would humans name something so cozy after something so... spicy?”

  Nick shrugged, grinning. “We’re complicated creatures.”

  As if on cue her stomach growled, loud and unapologetic.

  She clicked her claws together, eyes darting up at him. “Can we still grill though?”

  Nick chuckled, giving her a playful jab in the side—like punching a warm, fur-covered steel wall. “Sure. It’s not like we don’t have a freezer full of meat back at the house.”

  “That’s a relief,” she muttered, tail thumping once in defiance. “I’m reclaiming it. Netflix and grill—my version.”

  Nick shook his head, smiling. “You do that. Just don’t be surprised if someone thinks you’re inviting them to a very different kind of evening.”

  She gasped. “Again?! Humans are so confusing.”

  Nick grinned. “We’re a mess. But at least we know how to stock a freezer.”

  She paused, gaze drifting upward. One claw tapped against a protruding fang as she fell into deep thought. Then her ears perked, head tilting sideways. A mischievous grin pulled across her muzzle, showing way too many canines. Her tail swept up, tickling his face in a teasing series of flicks.

  “Maybe if you prove yourself to me later,” she said, an ever-broadening grin spreading across her muzzle as her tongue lolled out, licking her chops, “we can go with the... Earther version at a later date.”

  The whole context made Nick break out in a nervous sweat.

  Her tail resumed its happy thumping.

  *Whap, whap, whap.*

  The promise of good food and good company completely derailed her train of thought; for a moment, she almost forgot why they were there.

  Nick spoke up, snapping her out of her grilling-meat daydream. Her tail slowed to a high, arched drift, swaying gently as her eyes re-focused and locked onto him, ears standing straight.

  “Also, I appreciate that. I always hated being lied to about stuff like that—so thanks for being real with me; thanks for having my back. I’ll do the same for you... even though physically, you’ve got me outmatched in every way.”

  Her embarrassed expression softened into a warm smile as she placed a hand atop his head, ruffling his dark hair.

  “Let’s secure the idiots and check on the humans,” she said with a smirk.

  She picked Danny up, snapping the metallic wristlets off his arms with ease. His guns clattered to the ground. Tiffany scooped them up and tossed them to Nick, who caught them and slipped one into each back pocket of his jeans.

  Then she carried Danny over to where Francis had landed, setting him down on the opposite side of the tree.

  Nick checked on the humans still resting in their bed of fall foliage. He placed two fingers on the main artery of each neck. *Good—they were still okay.* He thought as he inspected them.

  He moved from the humans and knelt beside the larger female that was feuding with Francis, he pressed his fingers against her neck, and thought, *Well, that’s three for three. Let’s get your face outta the dirt now.*

  He gently rolled her onto her back.

  As she settled, her eyes shot open.

  She bolted upright with a startled jolt, knocking Nick over, leaning just far enough to avoid a headbutt from the briefly hysterical woman.

  “Wh—Heely, Meck and—! Gerroff me, ya feckin’—wait…”

  Her voice faltered as her eyes focused.

  “You’re not... oh... you’ve got lovely crystal blue eyes, haven’t ya, dearie?”

  Realizing he wasn’t the asshole who’d slammed her into the dirt, she reached out with a steadying hand. He hesitated, then warily extended his own.

  “Nick. Nick Dixion,” he said, guarded, still unsure of the wild-eyed woman in front of him.

  She smiled as best she could through a swollen, bruised cheek—a warming smile nonetheless.

  “Moyra. Moyra Oakenlance.”

  She clasped his hand and yanked him into a flannel-and-cleavage-smothering hug.

  “So, are ya me knight in shinin’ armor then? The one who beat that daft eejit senseless?”

  She gestured vaguely toward the tree trunk where Francis had landed.

  Nick gave her a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his head.

  “No ma’am, that was Shake’n Bake over there—I just helped,” he said, tipping his head toward Tiffany.

  At this, Moyra turned to glance at Tiffany, who was busy tying Danny to the tree with some odd device she’d fished out of her pocket.

  Tiffany’s ears swiveled toward Moyra, offering a blank look and a half-hearted wave.

  “Ell, thenks fer tryin’,” Moyra said with a grin. Then she raised her voice slightly:

  “Oy! Ye too, o’er thar!”

  Tiffany, mid-motion turning Francis over to secure him, paused. Her ears swiveled at the sound, and she turned her head, offering Moyra a faint smile in response.

  “Tiff! Look out!” Nick shouted, spotting Francis’s eyes flutter open as he shook off the daze.

  Her head snapped around—just as Francis launched his balled fist into her face.

  Thack!

  A solid hit, right between the eyes. Tiffany crumpled, dropping hard like a wet bag of cement.

  Francis sprang to his feet, looming over the groaning Lupas, tapping a small box on the waistband of his grimy slacks.

  “De feck ar ya doin’ on this side o’ the galaxy?” he muttered, puzzled as he stared down at her.

  He raised his leg with crisp, to bring it down hard—

  Only to be interrupted by a sudden barrage of bullets.

  *Katchow—Katchow—Kachow—*

  Nick emptied the extended magazine, unleashing a hail of hollow points at Francis. He didn’t even flinch—each bullet flattened mere inches from his head and torso, sending shimmering ripples of translucent gold across an invisible shield. Every round liquefied on impact, dripping molten metal onto the forest floor.

  That smug smile curled across Francis’s face.

  Nick cursed, dropped the pistol, and yanked the alien gun from his back pocket—fumbling to make sense of it, his eyes scanning the device trying to figure out the design

  Francis raised his leg again and brought it down on Tiffany’s muzzle—hard.

  *Crack—crunch—sqrunsh.*

  The third stomp landed with a sickening, wet sound that left her limp.

  *Whiiirrrrr—BOOOF!*

  Nick managed to fire the alien weapon. A glowing blue orb launched from the barrel, smashing into Francis’s shield. The energy field flared gold, fractured, and shattered like stained glass. The pager-like device clipped to Francis’s hip sparked and spat smoke.

  Francis grunted, slapping the device repeatedly in frustration, then looked down—ready to take his fury out on Tiffany’s unconscious form. He kept kicking her.

  “Oh, nah—that fecker’s gone too far!” Moyra snarled, eyes locked onto him.

  “Mr. Dixion, that piece o’ junk’ll need time to cool before it fires again. The green light’ll blink when it’s ready. Wait for an opening while I wale on this arse fer a bit.”

  Nick nodded and pulled out the backup, showing it to Moyra. “I have a second.”

  “E’ll, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t ye?” she replied with a smile.

  “No. Just American,” Nick said, all business, still fiddling with the charging unit as Moyra began to shift.

  Her pale skin darkened to a rich brown as short fur sprouted rapidly across her limbs. Soft cracks and pops rippled through her midsection as her torso elongated, muscles thickening beneath already strained clothing. Her neck lengthened, her face rounding into something that resembled an otter’s. Brown, oily fur surged over her frame, accented by white along her belly and muzzle.

  Her hiking boots split at the toes, claws tearing through leather as her feet widened and reshaped—fat, brown, webbed toes poking out the front. Her tailbone pushed free above the waistband of her low-rise jeans, forming a fat stump of flesh that quickly stretched into a long, heavy tail. Chocolaty brown fur sprouted along its length, nearly brushing the ground.

  A long, bushy tuft of white fur puffed from her cleavage as the rest of her chest grew slightly—covered in short, soft, white fur—tugging her already snug flannel shirt tighter. Her shirt's knotted front still held firm.

  Human ears faded, replaced by two dish-shaped flaps perched atop her skull. Her once-red hair deepened to dark chocolate brown, and her blue eyes blackened into twin, beady pits with a hint of glowing red.

  She stood fully upright—her monstrously tall body, though slender for her size, was packed full of fur-covered muscle. Her build was comical, yet at the same time intimidating—terrifying, to some.

  With an ear-piercing shriek, Moyra lunged, raking a claw across Francis’s undamaged cheek—making good on her earlier threat.

  Francis shrieked—“Reeeeeaaah!”—a head-splitting screech that pierced the trees.

  Before he could recover, Moyra’s unusually long neck twisted and snapped forward. Her small, sharp teeth sank deep into his neck. She pulled back, ripping out chunks of bloody flesh and mangled metal—fragments of what looked like a collar—and spat them to the ground.

  Nick held both Cicadas as they whirred to life—charging. He tried to stay on task, but even after all the brutality he’d seen over the years, nothing compared to watching a giant otter creature rip off part of someone’s face, then bite into their neck and spit out something metallic.

  Francis’s body shimmered, then faded... and finally dispersed altogether.

  What Moyra was wrestling with was his true form—a smaller, leaner, wiry version of herself. A male Pharose. Except… no tail.

  In his wiggling to break free from the freakishly large female, Nick caught a glimpse of his backside—a fat stump lopped off just above the base. Scarred tissue covered where a tail should’ve been.

  *Whiiiiiiirrrrrrrre—*

  The Cicada was charged and ready. “Moyra!”

  “Ner servin one arsehole!” Moyra bellowed, hurling the shrieking Francis aside.

  *VrrrrBOOM!* Nick loosed an energy blast from one gun, still holding the second in reserve.

  *Keeeesh!* The shot slammed into Francis’s midsection, melting and cauterizing him as it cut him in half.

  Nick rose and walked toward the gurgling Francis—his top half crawling slowly toward his bottom.

  “Hey, asshole!” Nick shouted, aiming the charged Cicada at Francis’s head.

  Francis turned and spat blood, hissing through broken teeth.

  “Kick this, ya fuck!” *Wheee-KASH!* Nick fired.

  The blast vaporized his head in a searing burst, leaving behind a smoldering crater.

  As Nick was coming down from the adrenaline rush he checks the side of the gun with the back of his hand before pocketing it. *Good, it cools to the touch faster than I'd expected...*He thinks as he quickly pockets the new gun.

  His mind snapped to what was important—Tiffany, he then quickly dashed over to check on his downed partner.