Chapter 2
Chicago Sun: Is Saint ‘The Savage’ Masters, NHL’s Hottest Bad Boy a Werewolf?
Chicago Bullet: Saint ‘The Savage’ Masters, a Beast or a Man?
NY Times: Do Werewolves Exist? Ask Saint Masters, Center for the Chicago Wild Dogs
USA Today: Authorities are Seeking Answers from Saint Masters, NHL’s Hottest Breakout Player Regarding an Attack on an Innocent Civilian in a Local Chicago Bar
Los Angeles Times: The Truth Behind the Sudden Rise and Extraordinary Powers of Saint ‘The Savage’ Masters.
Channel 8: Stay tuned for a broadcast from the owners of the Woodland Tavern as they report on a sighting of a nine-foot-tall werewolf destroying their bar.
Channel 4—Breaking News: Reports of a Werewolf Sighting in Chicago Spurs Panic
Girlfriend Number One on Instagram: “The man used to scare me to death when we had sex. Did you know he has red eyes?”
Girlfriend Number Two on Facebook: “Well, I will tell you a little secret. We dated for almost six months. The best six months of my life. Whew. He had two huge, and I do mean huge cocks, ladies. Let me tell you, sex was incredible.”
The Today Show, Carter Wainwright: “James, I know this is difficult for you. First of all. Thank you for being on our show today. How are you doing after the heinous attack?”
James: “It’s been rough. As you can see, I’m suffering. The beast broke my arm. It hurts like a son of a… Oh, sorry, man. Just nervous. I’m fearful he’ll come for me. I think he wanted to… eat me.”
Carter, his expression showing signs of bursting into laughter: “I can understand why you’d be afraid. Can you tell us in your own words what happened when you were confronted by Saint Masters?”
James, nodding and looking pitiful as he ran a shaking hand through his hair: “Sure. I was just sitting there having a drink after work. You know, trying to unwind after working a ten-hour shift. I was minding my own business and suddenly I was attacked. This monster came out of nowhere.”
Carter: “When you say attacked. What does that mean?”
James: “I mean Saint Masters, you know the dude. The asshole who thinks he’s somebody on the Chicago Wild Dogs hockey team just came at me for no reason whatsoever.
He threw a punch then a chair. Then his body started shaking uncontrollably.
Next thing I knew, there was this evil-looking creature with bulging silver eyes staring down at me.
Looked like one of those hunched-over werewolves from the movies.
It’s all true. Ten-inch claws and a long snout.
Crazy shit, man. I thought I was going to die.
He lunged. He swung. You should see what his claws did to my arm. ”
Good Morning America, Sheila Porter: “Professor Canton, I understand you’re the leading expert on zoology. What can you tell us about the possibility that werewolves do exist? And if so, does that mean they are a superior being to that of a human?”
Professor Canton: “Well, Sheila, I’ve been studying wolves and their behavior for years.
While it has yet to be proven the creatures can alter their forms, my studies have confirmed their DNA is advanced, leading to the possibility that werewolves can evolve from the body of a wolf.
Let’s just say they have superpowers that we’ve yet to unlock. ”
Sheila: “Professor, are these superpowers affected by the stages of the moon?”
Professor Canton, laughing maniacally: “Well, Sheila, if you’re suggesting they change only when there is a full moon, you would be wrong. They shift when they are angry or feeling the effects of being in heat.”
Sheila, her eyes opening wide: “Heat?”
Professor Canton, nodding emphatically: “Thirsting for a mate.”
Saint
What. The. Fuck?
The smooth, expensive whiskey I’d just consumed the night before was about to make a reappearance.
I glared at the television before returning my attention to the shit I’d found on the internet.
There wasn’t a major newspaper, magazine, or television news station that hadn’t run with the ridiculous story.
Come on. Who the hell believed that garbage?
Monsters in a grimy bar?
Shit. This was doing nothing for my hangover. One too many whiskeys. While I’d deserved to have a little fun after making the winning goal, I should have left with the others. Maybe then I would have avoided stepping into a pile of dog shit.
Instead, I’d found my way to a dive bar for one last drink.
One fucking last drink all by myself when I knew what could happen.
That’s when things had gotten ugly.
Snorting, I flipped through Instagram, chuckling as I slapped my boots on the coffee table and leaned back.
Holy crap. My name had exploded across the internet.
Being called a savage had taken on a new meaning.
Sure, I accepted that I was the bad boy of the NHL, a real beast on and off the ice.
That’s one reason I’d carried the nickname with me all the way from playing in college to the fame and glory of where I was today.
Right.
It could all come crashing down if the team didn’t make the playoffs. Forget the multimillion-dollar endorsements. Forget the contract extension.
This shit I didn’t need.
All your fault, tough guy. Forget the Wheaties box deal.
Yeah, I had to guess it was bad form to have a man on the box of morning cereal capable of eating his fill in human beings for breakfast.
I continued scrolling, chuckling after reading half the taglines and fisting my hand with the other. My fans were a trip, but the haters were more brutal than usual.
Attacking an innocent civilian? Fuck me.
The jerk hanging his dick out like a prized toy had been a terrible and very angry drunk, especially when pawing a beautiful female customer who hadn’t wanted her breast fondled by his sweaty hand.
What the fuck had I done wrong except to protect the girl?
I’d just explained to him what it meant to be a gentleman.
Okay, so things had gotten a little out of hand, but he’d deserved the brutal punches.
Maybe not every one of them, but close enough. He’d likely think twice about assaulting a woman again.
The stories were becoming even crazier the later it got in the evening.
Nine feet tall? I wish. Maybe that would clinch the playoff position.
I took another gulp of my drink and considered my favorite comment of the thousands that had popped up in every social media outlet.
With a grin on my face, I pressed my hand down on my junk.
Two cocks, huh? Maybe that would allow me to get more hot dates.
Especially since I couldn’t remember the girl’s face at all.
Sure, I dated a lot of women, if you could call a one-night stand dating them.
A six-month relationship? Bullshit. I wasn’t into relationships of any kind. Not good for my career.
But a full moon. Really? People spent way too much time watching horror flicks made in the nineteen eighties. Werewolves didn’t exist. Not on this planet or any other.
The sound of my phone chirping was right on cue. I was shocked that it had taken my dad this long to call. I hit accept and slowly brought the cellphone to my face. “Yeah, Dad. How’s it shaking?”
“Now isn’t the time to act nonchalant, son. Being the arrogant playboy isn’t going to get you out of this mess.” Barrett Masters suffered no fools, including among his children. He was too powerful. Too influential.
And too fucking rich.
Plus, I’d been labeled the bad boy of my family, not just with my team. “Hello to you too. I guess you heard.”
I thought the man might be having a heart attack given the amount of noise he was making.
“I’ve had fifty-two calls in the last three hours.
Fifty-two. Reporters. Investors. Board members.
Hell, your grandmother called and she’s way too busy with her bridge club to stay in contact.
How the hell did you get yourself in the middle of this shit? ”
Cringing, I took a deep breath. Maybe I’d had a couple too many drinks in my celebration of getting one win closer to the playoffs. “Some asshole took a video of the whole thing. Just a bar fight. I was protecting a chick.”
He cursed under his breath. “Well, money-grubbing assholes are a dime a dozen. Videos can easily be doctored. Hell, stupid kids do it all the time on TikTok. Here’s what we’re going to do.
First, you’re not going to answer any questions.
Not with reporters and not with your team. Not until I’ve figured this out.”
The only good thing about the incident was that none of my teammates had been at the bar when the shit went down. “I have a meeting with the coach in the morning, Dad. I can’t tell him no comment.”
“That’s exactly what you’re going to do.
Our attorney is already working on discrediting this James person and the asshole who took the video.
They’ll be nothing more than pedophiles when Michael gets done with them.
Just stay to yourself and keep your nose to the grindstone.
This will all blow over before you know it. ”
I took a swallow of my drink. My dad was a control freak and always had been, but he’d never been this disturbed about anything, including when I’d wrecked his beloved nineteen sixty-four Camaro. “What if it doesn’t, Dad? What then?”
His snort was full of the same arrogance he accused me of having. “Trust me. It will. One way or another. Just let me handle this. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
His deep sigh meant he had more on his mind. “What? Just say it.”
“I think it’s time you took a week off to fulfill your more primal needs.”
Primal needs. Playing hockey soothed the ache, but the hunger was increasing. Nothing seemed to appease the beast inside. “After the playoffs, Dad. There’s too much riding on the last game of the season. We gotta win.”
“Just remember everyone needs a reset.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Reset. The last time I’d returned to my roots, I almost hadn’t found my way back to the life I’d fought so hard to achieve.
“In the meantime,” he continued, “I’ll deal with the fucking reporters.”
“Whatever you say, Dad.” There was no arguing with the man when he set his mind to something.
If there was one thing I knew about my father, it was that he didn’t make threats.
He made promises.
And everyone in his path should rock with fear in their boots.
As the news returned to the story of the day, I tossed the phone and narrowed my eyes.
Channel 3: Back to the news. “The question of the day. Is it possible werewolves have invaded Chicago?”
That was it. I’d reached my limit. I flicked off the television, tossed my iPad aside, and rose to my feet.
When were they going to get it right? If they wanted to malign my reputation, they needed to convey correct information.
I wasn’t a goddamn werewolf. Ugly fucking hunched-over creatures with fangs and claws, shifting only during the kiss of the full moon to kill unsuspecting humans and beasts alike.
They. Didn’t. Exist.
Besides, they were ugly as fuck. I could see why kids were terrified of the flesh-eating, night-crawling, bloodsucking monsters with ginormous heads and evil-looking eyes.
I didn’t have red eyes. They were blue.
But I’d still take the second dick if Mother Nature was handing them out.
Wouldn’t that be a kick in the pants?
Laughing, I headed out of the room.
Why did I have a bad feeling things were about to go from bad to worse?
Maybe because being called The Savage wasn’t too far off from the truth.
After all, I wasn’t a werewolf, but I was a wolf shifter through and through.