Son of Anubis

By Stacy Bennett

Jake is the best bomb dog at Newark International, the pride of the force and his partner, Becca Carter. But when he accidentally ferrets out an ancient artifact, their routine sniff-and-search goes horribly wrong. His heart has always belonged to Becca, but Jake never realized what losing her would mean until the night he found the Egyptian jar and tasted the wine of Anubis. The night they were attacked by werewolves…in Newark. Injured and hunted, Jake struggles to understand the strange cascade of events that follow the attack. The one certainty is that only he can protect Becca from the antiquities smuggler who would do anything to keep his secrets hidden. Plagued by violent dreams and hounded by werewolf assassins, Jake must find a way to help Becca solve the mystery of the jackal-headed god's elixir before she ends up dead...or worse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stacy Bennett
• Release date: Jan 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781393703624

Stacy Bennett

Like many young daydreamers, Stacy Bennett grew up in a quiet New Jersey suburb, reading classic sci/fi and fantasy books and dreaming of owning a horse. She spun stories in her head about the adventures she would have - if she had a horse, if she could fly an X-wing, if she could sing like a bird. Most of those stories remained daydreams, but a writer's favorite question is "what if." Now she writes down those imaginings and calls them novels. 

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About the Book

Jake is the best bomb dog at Newark International, the pride of the force and his partner, Becca Carter. But when he accidentally ferrets out an ancient artifact, their routine sniff-and-search goes horribly wrong. His heart has always belonged to Becca, but Jake never realized what losing her would mean until the night he found the Egyptian jar and tasted the wine of Anubis. The night they were attacked by werewolves...in Newark.

Injured and hunted, Jake struggles to understand the strange cascade of events that follow the attack. The one certainty is that only he can protect Becca from the antiquities smuggler who would do anything to keep his secrets hidden. Plagued by violent dreams and hounded by werewolf assassins, Jake must find a way to help Becca solve the mystery of the jackal-headed god's elixir before she ends up dead...or worse.

SON OF ANUBIS

Copyright © 2016 Stacy Bennett

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by Miramae Press

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015961014

Print edition ISBN numbers:

ISBN-13: 978-0-692-61130-2

ISBN-10: 0-692-61130-4

Cover design, interior book design and eBook design by Blue Harvest Creative

Author photograph by Jaye Kogut

www.jayekogutphotography.smugmug.com

Dedication

This story is for my children

as proof that it’s never too late (or too early)

to turn the improbable into the real.

Chapter 1 - Jake

Scents hang low and uncluttered in the damp night, pungent and tantalizing, painting the world in complex sensation. Thick scent of oil, cool cement beneath my paws, sharp tang of ammonia, autumn-musty papers, and over all of it, the pervasive scent of the two-legs. Cunning they may be, but they are blind to this abundant landscape. How strange to live in a world you can’t track.

Outside, I sense the rise of the swollen moon as I patrol my concrete territory looking for a prey I know only by scent. A bouquet of pepper and plastic and burnt ashes. Something they made. Something to fear.

My two-leg pack mate follows close, humming with the tinny static from the plugs in her ears. I watch her for a minute, taking in the powder-and-soap smell that is hers. My tail swishes with contentment. Catching my look, she bares her teeth gently and rubs my ears.

We go up and down the rows of crates. Walk, sniff, choose, move on – over and over. Routine, but hardly boring. Each package comes wrapped in its own complex history of scent.  Grease and metal, perfume and food, dusty books and dirty laundry. 

I notice a cluster of foreign two-legs ahead. Usually the warehouse is empty except for us, and my partner hesitates, breaking our rhythm. The strangers gather around one of the wooden crates, tension obvious in their stance.

My partner prods me forward. We have a job to do.

I walk up, ignoring the prickle of the two-legs' gazes, and sniff the crate.  And something deep inside me stirs. Hiding seductively beneath the tartness of plywood, a scent calls to my bones, my teeth, my very heart. Not pepper-plastic-ashes but something as important. Curiosity warrants another sniff, this time a long slow draw of air. Instinct rather than training recognizes an earthy tang, something made of stone, and something more - a threat. The marking scent, alien and male, lifts my hackles. 

She tugs the harness, telling me to decide. But I can’t. I can't stop snuffling and sorting.  A yearning grows in me, as innate as the desire to track, as much a part of me as my black claws or thick fur.

Another tug.

I know this isn’t what she’s looking for. I should move on. But the more I inhale, the more the need gathers in my gut. The yearning becomes a craving. My claws scrape at the wood, and she yanks me back with a sharp reprimand. Her disapproval pales next to the bright desire to find whatever it is I smell. I lean in, clawing harder, whining with the desperation that prickles along my shoulders and down my back. 

In frustration, she grabs my collar and hauls me back, my claws skidding. But the compulsion is so visceral, I’d lie to find it.

So I calm myself. And I sit, deliberately giving her the signal that will make her open the box.

My stillness sends alarm crackling through her like lightning. She turns to the group of two-legs around the box, one hand on her metal weapon, and commands them with sharp authority. They grumble but obey, prying the box open with an iron bar as she talks into a radio on her harness that responds with broken voices.

As the side drops, thick wafts of the heady scent grab me. Foreign dirt. Timeworn stone. Tree resins never tasted. And underneath, something old and almost sacred. I can sit still no longer. I leap up and dig through the rotting straw.

She growls at me to sit.

I can’t. Claws find stone in a fresh plume of old dust, and something tumbles to the ground at my feet. A basin leaks dark liquid. My head is wrapped in the sweet and bitter odors of thick ripe fruit, dry leaves and snake skin. My blood begins to sing.

I feel suddenly whole though I never felt incomplete. I lean on the lead as she yells, trying to hold me back, arguing with the gang of two-legs. Shouting at them, shouting at me.  But it all fades behind the alluring tangle of scents rising from the liquid. My tongue snakes out of its own accord, lapping up the honey-thick sap. It burns my mouth and a smoky dizziness wafts to the top of my head, but I can't stop. Don’t want to.

Her hold on me slips and I fall on my nose in the puddle. The bump on my snout reprimands my neglect of duty. Her glare is furious. Tucking tail, I back up, refusing to succumb to the scent’s captivating pull, but licking the last few drops from my jowls. 

Another two-leg stalks up. A leader this time, his long limbs careless and loose, his presence coated in slick bottled command and the sting of starch. His dominance reminds me of the marking scent as he hands her papers that make her growl. She radiates anger – with them, with me. My two-leg argues with the alpha. He waves the pages at her as a third man approaches. I’ve smelled this one before. His tones are clipped and final. Her shoulders slump. 

The alpha shows his teeth in a typical two-leg half-threat and, leading us away from the glorious smell, he opens a door for us, his eyes unwavering and dominant. She snaps the lead, directing me through. 

The steel clangs shut behind us leaving us in the lower levels, not our usual territory. She strides off across the open space, her shoes and my claws echoing against the barren walls, confusing near and far to my ears. Her whisperings are sharp and hot as she stomps, keys jingling. My head begins to hurt. My belly roils with the weight of the strange liquid.

She