#tranquilizer darts

Lucky Day

“You’re Sylvia’s trigger man, and you’re not going to pull the trigger? You’re not going to kill it?” Mallory asked Luke.

Luke turned his attention from the window to Russell Mallory who sat with his eyes glued to his laptop screen. Luke frowned and scratched his beard.

“I’m probably pulling a trigger,” he said as he opened the right front of his denim jacket to reveal the holstered tranquilizer gun. “I’m just not gonna be firing bullets.”

It was Mallory’s turn to frown. Luke hadn’t been sent to outright kill the werewolf that was very likely going to try to kill him. Luke stopped just shy of telling Mallory that he probably wouldn’t have even known about the threat had it not been for Sylvia ‘Nan’ Hernandez. Or that he had a normal handgun with a sensible calibre in regard to werewolves in the opposite holster. He kept that to himself.

“You wanna know who’s really responsible, don’t you?”

“I’m more concerned with the immediate issue,” Mallory said without looking up. “At least the traps I had set out will provide an extra layer of protection. Plated with silver, too.”

Luke wondered where Mallory came by those traps at short notice. He’d make a point to ask about it later, but damned if he was going to validate Mallory’s smug expression. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the window as he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. He knew he was being peevish, but he didn’t care. If he had to explain himself to Mallory again he was going to reconsider his position on using bullets. Or at very least accuse Mallory of being a myopic little dipshit.

Luke knew he deserved his reputation as a killer. He was at peace with it. Moreover, it was only practical to embrace that image. That didn’t mean it was fair, though. He and Nan had saved many werewolves from themselves, or from other, worse fates. But that fact got overshadowed. Unfair, but unsurprising.

Luke turned when he heard Mallory draw in a sharp breath. He turned to see him jab his laptop screen with his index finger.

“I’ve got it!” he said as he looked from the screen to Luke with wide eyes.

“You got what?”

The sound of Luke’s boots was mostly absorbed by the thick carpet as he crossed the room, and there was no other sound to punctuate his aggravation. He gripped the computer and twisted it so he could confirm what he knew he was going to see: A werewolf with a leg caught in a trap. The camera feed was fortunately devoid of sound.

Fuck, he thought as he turned the computer back around with far more force than was necessary.

He grabbed his flashlight off of Mallory’s mantle.

“What direction is that?”

Mallory stared at him, mouth agape.

Luke glared and raised his arms and shoulders into an impatient shrug.

“Uh…” he said as he looked down at his screen. “East. It’s east.”

“Asshole,” Luke said as he showed himself out.

                                                      ~~~

Pain drove the breath and sense out of Reigny. If he’d been in human form, he would have screamed, long and loud. But he’d taken the shape of something approximating a wolf, and the explosion of sound from his throat was sharp and brief. It bounced through the cold air and off the trees as he fell. He twisted, and gripped the metal that had sunken into his flesh. He held his breath as he tried to pry the plates apart. They gave a little, but his own blood made his clawed digits slip. The metal sank in once again, and he threw his head back and bayed in pain and frustration.

Nonononono!

He had to get loose. He had to kill his mark. He had to, or there would be far worse repercussions than a damaged leg. He panted and prepared himself to try again. He needed to get free now, he needed…

His ears flickered backward. His body reacted before the fact he’d heard something registered in his mind. He spun, and saw someone standing nearby, watching, appraising. Reigny went still, then got his three uninjured legs beneath him and stood as tall as he could. He raised his hackles and rumbled deeply in his throat.

“Easy does it,” the man said as he put up his hands. He took a couple steps closer. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Reigny bared his teeth and snapped.

The man didn’t so much as flinch. That, on top of the pain was infuriating. If he had the power of speech like he did in his human form, Reigny would have told the man how lucky he was - how goodman lucky - that there was a trap holding him in place. The man would be a swath of blood on the ground on Reigny’s way to complete his assignment; just another body on his conscience.

The man reached beneath his jacket and pulled out a gun and leveled it at him. Reigny lunged, snapped and swiped. He felt his flesh tear more, and he felt metal drag against bone as he fell well short of his target. He yelped as he landed, and it enraged him even more that the man was there to have heard his pained cries.

He snarled and dragged himself forward, one painful inch at a time, as far as the trap’s chain would let him. And there was silver. Reigny felt the familiar, acidic burn multiplying the agony of his wounds. His claws scathed the ground as he snapped and raged. His need to be free of the trap was overridden by his need to eliminate the living threat in front of him.

The human pulled the trigger. Instead of the expected crack of gunfire, there was only a thhp, and a negligible sting in his shoulder. He roared as he swiped the dart away. It fell to the ground, but the damage had been done. He directed his ire back at the man. But his efforts were last ditch, useless. And he knew it.

What the hell is that? Poison? Tranquilizer?

A wave of dizziness hit him, and he kept himself from falling. He shook his head as though that would dispel it. His limbs began to shake, and he became dreadfully aware of how hurt and tired he was. He held onto the pain, and willed it to spur him on.

“Believe it or not,” the man said in a slow drawl, “This really is your lucky day.”

Reigny’s legs gave out. His vision swam, and he let out a long, entirely canine whine as the man approached.

                                                 ~~~

“Sorry about this,” Luke said as he stepped closer. “I really am.”

The wolf looked up at him with half lidded, pale blue eyes. Luke knew his commiseration meant nothing to the wolf. He growled again, but there was no force behind it; the sound didn’t reverberate through Luke’s ribcage this time. He was defeated.

The wolf’s eyes slipped shut, and didn’t reopen.  Luke was relieved to see his breathing even out.

This could have gone worse, he thought as he reholstered his gun.

He reminded himself of Mallory’s annoyance at the werewolf’s continued existence; though the thought didn’t quite bring a smile to his face. He thanked his lucky stars he’d called Ollie on his trek across Mallory’s estate. The injury to the werewolf’s leg was beyond the might of his own limited medical knowledge, and whatever bandages he had left in the first aid box in his truck.

Could have gone a lot better, too.

He swept his flashlight’s beam over the wolf’s perfectly black coat and powerful timbs. It wouldn’t be too long before his body reformed itself into a human shape.

The way the wolf had lunged, despite being caught in the snare, was not the behavior of a creature that was going to let himself be saved.