Serengeti Storm

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The jeep’s engine coughed and sputtered as the wheels locked in place on the rutted dirt road.

Shana Delray swore and stomped on the gas. When the engine screamed in protest, she slammed the clutch to the floor in a last-ditch attempt to keep the damn thing running. The abused jeep just gave one last bone-jarring hack and died.

“Fuck.”

She cranked the key, but got no response other than a pathetic whinny and a puff of smoke from the direction of the engine block.

“Double fuck.”

So much for her majestic return to the ranch.

Shana breathed warm air onto her freezing hands and glared out the window. The winter night stretched cold and dark around her. Clouds heavy with the threat of snow hung low, almost completely concealing the moon and throwing eerie shadows across the plain.

Shana had never been afraid of things that go bump in the night. Hell, she was one of the things that went bump, a born predator, a lioness shape-shifter. But that didn’t make the prospect of walking the two-plus miles to the ranch compound any more appealing. Especially not lugging her bags and her wounded pride.

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