Dawg-Napped! (Holiday Howlz 1)

Dawg-Napped! (Holiday Howlz)
Second Edition
Anne Kane
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 Anne Kane

Comet held himself very still. He didn't want to scare away the female. She'd be perfect for Bruce, and Comet knew the young elf desperately needed a female. Soft brown eyes complemented her golden-brown hair. Young, sexy, not too tall, but not short either. Curvy, too. Not the type to appeal to everyone, but elves liked lots of padding on their women. Now all he had to do was figure out how to get the two of them together. If someone didn't help him, Bruce would spend the rest of his life without a mate, and the North Pole was one place where you needed a bed partner to help keep the chills at bay.

Cyndi sidled up to the vintage motorbike, keeping an eye peeled for the owner. He'd sounded downright grouchy when he'd snarled at Peppie for waddling over to admire the bike. Dressed completely in dark leathers, with a scowl that would wilt the toughest salesman, he'd looked like the kind of guy she usually steered well clear of. Unfortunately, she just couldn't resist the temptation. She had this thing for vintage bikes, and to have one roar up to the Barkus Saloon was unbelievable. The intoxicating aroma of real leather filled her senses with a feeling akin to lust. She just had to touch it.

The machine was in mint condition, and her regard for the owner went up a few notches. It took dedication and a lot of elbow grease to keep one of these babies from becoming a run-down pile of metal.

She ran her hand lovingly over the chromed sissy bar, and walked in a slow circle around the machine, checking out the immaculately sparkling exhaust and shiny wheel spokes. Someone had certainly given them a good rubbing recently.

She fingered the braided leather that outlined the front flap of the saddlebags. The workmanship intrigued her. She'd never seen anything quite this intricate. She examined the bags carefully, looking for the craftsman's stamp, but couldn't find an identifying mark.

After taking a look around to ascertain no one was watching, she unbuckled the flap to take a quick peek inside. Sometimes leather workers stamped their initials on the inside of a piece so as not to mar the beauty of their creations. She peered inside the left bag, but couldn't see any markings. Grumbling, she refastened the buckles and went back around to check the bag on the other side. She'd just gotten the flap lifted, and her head down to look inside, when she heard the door of the bar creak open.

"Thanks, Bucky. I'll make sure Santa's good to you this Christmas."

Cyndi recognized the deep voice as belonging to the owner of this lovely machine. Damn! He must have gulped his drink down in record time.

Panicking, she sucked in a deep breath and willed a shift. Seconds later, her small, furry prairie dawg body tumbled to the bottom of the saddlebag. The flap slapped closed above her and she let out a sigh of relief. The dark, rich smell of leather surrounded her and she sat still, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. She heard a creak of leather and the saddlebags dropped an inch closer to the ground as the biker's weight settled into the seat.

Good. With him seated his back would be to her and she could slip out undetected and make a run for the safety of the grass. Standing up on her hind legs, she pushed against the flap.

Nothing. The leather remained obstinately in place. There was no way he could have buckled the straps back down without her hearing him. She pushed harder, panicking again, when she heard the snick of the rider's face shield coming down, but the flap refused to budge.

She dug her claws into the thick leather and braced herself to shove against the obstinate flap with all her furry might. It didn't even bend.

The roar of the engine revving up made her jump, and she tumbled to the bottom of the saddlebag, cursing every inch of the way. She'd barely managed to scramble to her feet when the bike jerked forward, and she again landed in an undignified heap on her butt. Oh shit! They were moving! Well, there wasn't much she could do now except hope the biker didn't live too far away.

She'd been up before dawn this morning, and the motion of the bike made her drowsy. Cyndi turned around a few times to find the most comfortable position, curled up, and let the rocking motion lull her into a fitful sleep. After a while the air got colder, and she buried her nose under her tail before she drifted off yet again.

Cyndi could hear voices, far away, arguing.

"What the hell do you mean you thought I'd like her? She's a rodent, for crying out loud." She recognized the voice of the biker, but the air was so cold, and she didn't want to wake up.

"She's not a rodent. She's a prairie dawg shifter, and a dang cute one at that. How was I supposed to know prairie dawgs could suffer from hypothermia? She has fur!"

A second voice? She didn't remember there being two bikers, but then, she didn't really care. She just wanted to stay in her warm world of dreams. She wished the two would go away.

"That's your problem, Comet, you just don't think things through. You get an idea and you run with it. She could have died in there!"

"I would have felt it if she was in danger." Comet sounded defensive. "It felt like she was sleeping."

"Well, now I'm going to have to wake her up and try to explain why she's freezing her furry little tail off at the North Pole instead of sunning it in Barkus, Kansas."

The North Pole?