The Swamp Elephant, page 1
part #34 of Kontra's Menagerie Series
On the Road: A young Cajun who’s never learned to stand up to his brother gets support and an extra push from the most unexpected of places.
Horace Broussard knows he needs to learn how to say no to his brother, Herbert. His older, larger brother always seems to drag him into trouble. Except, the two times he’d gathered the courage, Herbert had explained why it was a bad idea... with his fists and feet. The first time had left him pissing blood for days. The second time had culminated in a broken wrist. Horace doesn’t say no to his brother anymore, which is how he ends up poaching gators in the swamp... again.
When they spot a small pack of wolves running through the cypress trees, Herbert orders that they go after them, claiming a wolf pelt on his floor would be cool.
Just like many of Herbert’s bad ideas, Horace ends up in hot water. They’re caught by the owners of the wolves—a fierce biker gang. Except, then something crazy happens. A huge African elephant grabs Horace in its trunk and carries him into the swamp. When other animals arrive and turn into men, he wonders if he’s hit his head and is hallucinating. Can the paranormal be real, and if so, how can he keep this revelation from his dominating brother?
Reader Advisory: The first chapter of this tale overlaps with the last chapter in Pursuit by Camelback.
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The Swamp Elephant
Copyright © 2022 Charlie Richards
ISBN: 978-1-4874-3792-3
Cover art by Angela Waters
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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The Swamp Elephant
Kontra’s Menagerie34
By
Charlie Richards
Chapter One
Taking a sip of coffee, Horace Broussard hid his wince. He didn’t care for coffee at the best of times, but his brother’s coffee tasted even more vile. Herbert loved strong coffee. He claimed it put hair on his chest.
Horace didn’t think Herbert needed more hair on his chest. His older brother had plenty of body hair, and he liked to lounge in his boxer briefs most evenings watching TV, which showed it off. It was not a good look, so Horace spent most evenings out back whittling, enjoying the fresh night air.
When Horace scooped two heaping spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee, he ignored Herbert’s sneer.
Whatever.
It was better than trying to choke down Herbert’s vile excuse that he called coffee. Normally, Horace made the coffee in the mornings. He was usually up at least an hour before his brother because the man expected breakfast to be ready for him first thing.
So why the crapballs is Herbert up at seven AM on a Saturday?
Horace knew for a fact that Herbert hadn’t gotten in from the bar until nearly midnight. His brother had made a hell of a lot of noise coming in—so had his fuck for the evening. The woman’s giggles and moans had given Horace the creeps.
God, how can guys think those sorts of noises are sexy?
Having known he was gay since the age of fourteen, Horace had been damn careful to keep it under wraps. Ten years later, he was still a virgin, and he figured he would remain that way until the day he died... or Herbert died.
Unless I figure out a way to get away from my brother.
Unfortunately, Horace’s couple of prior attempts hadn’t gone so well.
Horace shut down those thoughts, not wanting to think about the injuries he’d ended up with. Instead, he pulled out a couple of skillets and started breakfast.
“Hurry up,” Herbert ordered, sitting at the table with his coffee. “I wanna get out on the water.”
“The water?” Even as Horace couldn’t help but ask, he grabbed the bacon and eggs from the fridge.
“Yup. Got a tip last night from Florent.” Herbert’s grin didn’t soothe Horace’s unease upon finding his brother already awake and waiting for him in the kitchen. His next words only made his gut twist even more. “He spotted a clutch of gator eggs near Great Cypress Swamp.” After slurping his coffee, Herbert claimed, “It’ll be quiet out there this time of the morning. Let’s go get us some gators.”
As Horace flipped the three over-easy eggs for Herbert, he couldn’t help but comment, “Gators aren’t in season.”
In fact, they wouldn’t be for months.
With a snort, Herbert sneered. “I don’t give a shit.”
Of course, he didn’t.
Horace grimaced as he flipped the bacon in a second skillet. “I’ll, uh, I’ll get the boat gassed up for you while you eat,” he offered, hoping to avoid his brother dragging him along with him.
“Naw, I’ll do it while you clean the kitchen and eat,” Herbert told him. “Hurry up with the food. We need to get a move on.”
Swallowing his unhappy sigh, Horace obeyed his brother and quickly finished making his brother’s breakfast. He set a plate with the over-easy eggs as well as two slices of toast, heavily buttered, and half a dozen strips of bacon. Then he returned to the stove and cracked two more eggs into the pan. After scrambling them, he began crunching his way through his first of the four bacon strips he’d kept for himself. Then Horace began cleaning up the toaster crumbs and bacon pan while waiting for his eggs.
Once the eggs were done, Horace loaded them onto his two slices of toast. He picked up the first one and started eating. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Herbert had finished his food. Horace moved toward the table as he polished off his toast and eggs.
Herbert drained his coffee before leaving the mug on the table beside the plate. Rising, he told him, “I’ll get the boat ready. Don’t be long.”
As Herbert left the room, Horace picked up his brother’s dishes. Once the man had left out the back door, he allowed himself to shake his head. He sighed deeply. After placing the dishes in the sink, Horace turned on the water before rubbing his palms over his face.
“I wonder if he’d track me down if I went to New Orleans,” Horace muttered under his breath. “Maybe I could lose myself in the big city long enough for him to decide to leave me alone.”
Except, as Horace cleaned the kitchen, he didn’t think that was possible. His brother had his buddies keeping an eye on him not only when he was at work but also when he did something as mundane as grocery shopping. His brother didn’t plan to let his servant go anywhere.
After Horace had finished eating and cleaning the kitchen, he hurried to his bedroom. He quickly changed into an old shirt and a faded pair of jeans with fray-holes starting to form along the seams. Horace pulled an old flannel shirt over his tee before tugging on a pair of socks.
Horace padded through the small house to the back door. Stepping on the back porch, he spotted his brother sitting in the boat, doing something with the engine. As Horace tugged on his hiking boots, he could say one thing for the man, Herbert was good with engines. Otherwise, the small boat would have crapped out years ago.
“This is going to suck,” Horace muttered as he trudged down to the dock.
As Horace climbed into the boat, Herbert fired up the engine. He’d just settled onto the bench seat, propping his feet against the side to keep himself steady, when his brother hit the throttle. Gripping the side of the boat, Horace watched their dock and home quickly disappear between the cypress trees.
Nearly three hours later, Horace helped Herbert wrangle their third gator to the side of the boat. He turned his attention to the right as he watched his brother prepare to shoot the gator in the head. At least that would be a kill shot, and the beast wouldn’t suffer.
“Holy shit,” Horace whispered, blinking in shock. “No freakin’ way.”
Surely he wasn’t seeing what he thought he was seeing. His focus slipped as he took in the animals loping on the bank, and his grip on the rope holding the gator loosened.
“What?” Herbert grunted. “Keep the damn line taut.”
“There are wolves in the bayou,” Horace whispered, struggling to yank his attention away from the three beasts jumping agilely from dirt to cypress roots and back to dirt again.
“There are what?” Herbert straightened and focused on where Horace was looking. “Well, fuck.” The man’s mean chuckle filled the air. “One of those heads would look great on my wall and the skin on my floor.” Herbert shifted in his seat, waving a hand and adding, “Let the line go. We’ll come back for it.”
Herbert leveled his revolver at the trio of wolves.
“Wait!” Horace cried, realizing he should have kept his mouth shut. God, when will I learn? “What are you doing?”
“Hunting
Horace hadn’t even realized he’d been shifting on his seat toward Herbert. What he planned to do, he had no idea. He just really didn’t want to see his brother kill a wolf. Although, why they would be in the swamp, he had no idea.
Upon hearing Herbert’s snarled order, Horace instinctively froze. A second later, he heard his brother take the shot. His ears began to ring even as he jerked his focus back to the wolves.
The trio had frozen—two black wolves and one gray one—and were staring in their direction. As Herbert took another shot, they spun in uniform and disappeared between the trees. Horace let out a silent sigh of relief.
It seems my brother missed.
Horace couldn’t say he was surprised, considering Herbert didn’t practice much. Normally, he was shooting a gator at point-blank range. That meant he wasn’t much at aiming.
“Damn it,” Herbert growled, shoving his revolver into the holster at his hip. “Hang on.”
Then Herbert fired up their boat’s engine and gunned it.
Horace grabbed wildly for the side of the boat, nearly being flung over the side as Herbert spun them around. Then he went tearing up the bayou. Planting his feet on the other side, Horace clung tightly as his brother zig-zagged through the swamp, barely missing cypress roots, branches, and other debris in his pursuit of the wolves.
Horace could see them ahead, but they were gaining.
Herbert leaned forward, pulled out his gun, and aimed again.
The bang of the firearm was making his ears ring, and Horace desperately wanted to rub his ears but refused to let go for fear of falling overboard.
“Watch out!” Horace cried, spotting the partially submerged wood up ahead.
Herbert wrenched the throttle stick, turning them sharply. The boat lurched and rocked, bouncing awkwardly off the side of the stump. Careening to the left, the boat’s bow slammed into the muddy bank, driving them halfway up it.
“Damn it,” Herbert snarled. Leaning forward, he smacked Horace upside the back of his head. “You fucker. You distracted me.”
Horace hunched his shoulders, leaning away from Herbert’s next hit. He knew it wouldn’t do any good to point out that he’d saved them from a head-on collision. His damn brother had been too busy trying to poach wolves.
Asshole.
“Put the gun down, asshole,” a deep voice ordered.
Gaping, Horace stared up at the scariest-looking guy he’d seen in... well, ever. He had a huge, thickly muscled build and had to stand six-foot-six, although it was tough to tell, considering he stood up on the bank. The guy’s brawny, tattooed arms were crossed over his expansive chest, and his goateed lips were curved into a fierce scowl. Even the flecks of silvery-gray threading through his hair didn’t soften his appearance. In fact, somehow, Horace thought it made him look even more menacing.
Or maybe that’s the cold anger in his deep brown eyes.
Adding to the intimidation factor, there were two more beefy bruisers flanking scary guy number one.
Oh, we are so fucked.
Herbert—of course, the moron that he was—tried to turn his gun on the guys.
The pale-featured brown-haired man with a scar bisecting his left brow and curving down his cheek, lunged forward. A second later, he was gripping Herbert’s wrist. He must have used a pressure point or something, because a second later, Herbert howled in pain and dropped the gun... right into the waters of the swamp.
Oh, damn. He’s going to be pissed about losing that later. I bet he’s going to make me search for it, too.
“Get out of the boat.” The second guy who was flanking scary-guy one held out his hand, palm up. The man’s ebony skin glistened with sweat in the Louisiana heat. There was a serious gleam to his black eyes, but his expression appeared encouraging as opposed to angry like the other two. “Come on, young one. You have nowhere to go.”
Well, I’ll have to look for it if I make it out of this alive.
Doing as the black man with the slightly accented voice ordered, Horace took the guy’s hand. The man helped him from the boat, his movements gentle, as opposed to the pair who were all but bodily lifting a cussing Herbert. His brother bucked his body, trying to wrench away from them, but they easily subdued him and began frog-marching him through the swamp.
The black man placed a hand on Horace’s shoulder—light but firm—and guided him after the trio. After hiking only about a hundred yards, a clearing appeared, revealing an older Victorian home in obvious stages of repair. Men milled around the area, doing different tasks from painting to sanding to fixing boards on the deck.
One thing they all seemed to have in common, however, was the fact that they all paused to glare at Horace and his brother.
Shit.
There were over a dozen motorcycles lined up in the detached garage, easily seen through the open door.
The wolves were sitting at the base of the steps, two of them growling softly. They didn’t advance on them, however. Instead, they sat, obviously obeying the big goateed guy.
Oh, we are so fucked. Herbert shot at a hidden biker gangs’ wolves!
As Horace had gotten lost in his spiraling thoughts, his mind threatening to shut down in shock and fear, another man had joined their captors. He had his hand on Herbert’s head, and he was staring into his brother’s eyes. His odd, lavender gaze seemed to have entranced Herbert, for he now stood quietly.
When the pale bald man turned that lavender gaze on Horace, a shudder worked through him. The guy reached for him, and he nearly pissed himself. He tried to rear back, but his body was frozen, not obeying his commands.
At first, Horace thought the trembles working through him were his body’s reaction to the bikers. Except, the vibrations intensified, and he heard a bugling noise he didn’t recognize. To his confusion, the men paused and looked left.
Horace followed their actions, and his blood rushed to his head as a fresh wave of shock filled him. The bugling noise had come from an elephant—a fucking elephant!
With the sound of the blood rushing through his ears, Horace couldn’t follow the conversation. All he could think about was the fact that the elephant was wrapping his trunk around his body. He was being lifted into the air. Then he was tucked against the huge animal’s chest and being carried away from the bikers.
I’m being kidnapped by an elephant.
The crazy thought entered his mind, then was gone... because it was lights out.
Chapter Two
The scent of the human that Alpha Kontra and his men had brought into the clearing had nearly blown Donovan’s mind. He knew he was supposed to stay hidden when strangers were around—since he couldn’t shift into his human form, yet—but he just couldn’t. Getting close to the human drove every other thought out of Donovan’s mind.
My mate! The human is my mate!
I finally understand why Rudy nearly charged into the clearing, even with the feds here.
Donovan had wrapped his trunk around the camel shifter’s leg, stopping his actions. Still, after Donovan had let go, Rudy had waited. Once the feds had left, he and Mutegi—a warthog shifter and Alpha Kontra’s head enforcer—had figured out that Rudy had scented his mate, who’d ended up being the human the feds had brought with them—Gary.
Fortunately, the feds had left Gary, allowing the pair to meet and for Rudy to woo him.
Rudy had more self-control than I do. No way can I wait.
Plus, Alpha Kontra was having the fae warrior, Prudhoe, look into the minds of the two humans—his mate and another man with similar coloring, although his features were much harder.
Can’t let them harm my mate.
With the need to get his mate to safety being his only thought, Donovan pounded into the clearing. He wrapped his trunk around the sweet-smelling human’s body, finding it slender and toned beneath the worn clothing. When Alpha Kontra asked him if the human was his mate, Donovan bobbed his head in confirmation before turning and heading back into the swamp.
