Wyvern Protection Unit - Chapter 28: Chapter 28

Snarl, growl, snap.
The vicious animals were circling the cabin, and to her not so sensitive ears, they seemed closer than before. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Sob.
“I am safe inside these walls,” Kim whispered, and repeated the mantra to herself.
She shivered against the sudden chill that raced down her spine, though she was still sweating. How the heck had this happened to her? Kim’s career had been going remarkably well. She’d earned tenure, published in six journals, and successfully completed her eighth archeological expedition as a team leader before hitting forty. She’d thought she was important to the university, to her department head.
She still couldn’t believe that lowlife Harold had done this to her, or even at all. How could an anthropologist sell off priceless artifacts without a single thought for the irrevocable consequences his actions would have against history?
People in their positions were obligated to preserve the past. It was their job to ensure future generations knew and understood where they had all come from. People like them—archeologists, anthropologists, students of civilization—revered history. Kimberley firmly believed that the study and preservation of artifacts from ancient cultures could only serve to better the future of all humankind.
Learning about the past to improve the future was a necessity. It was her duty as an archeologist and a professor. Kim considered herself not only a teacher, but a perennial student of the development of societies and cultures throughout the ages. She’d thought Harold shared her passion for the past.
The rare antiquities she’d brought back would’ve helped with both her teachings and her studies. And don’t forget the book she had been planning over the last decade regarding her travels and views on the value of studying ancient civilizations.
Damn Harold for getting her caught up in his mess. Hell, he did more than that. The tiny-penised fucker led the authorities to her doorstep!
Ugh.
She was so glad she never dated that spineless turd. Dinner had been quite enough, as far as she was concerned. When had she become so desperate that she accepted dates with colleagues who were as appealing as week old tuna salad?
Yuck.
And where the hell was her bodyguard? The growling from outside was growing louder, or closer, or both.
Crap.
She strained to listen to her furry stalkers, but suddenly the growling stopped. Kim rose up to her knees and crawled to the large window in the living room area. Anticipation churned her gut. Something was coming. Was that a car?
Thunder rocked the very foundation of the cabin, and she bit her lip to stop herself from screeching aloud. No, it wasn’t a car speeding down the dirt road. It was a motorcycle.
The darkness made it difficult to see, and Kim could barely make out the single beam of light coming from the bike as it turned down the graveled path leading to the cabin.
Something was scratching at the door again, and this time it sounded like the knob was creaking. Almost like it was being turned. Did dogs have thumbs? She whipped her head around, eyes wide.
The taste of whiskey turned acidic in her mouth, and she swallowed down her nausea. Maybe drinking on an empty stomach was a bad idea.
“Oh god,” she whimpered as the door groaned.
The growls grew louder despite the thundering rain pounding down on the windows and roof. If only she had electricity! Lights would have been really appreciated at that moment.
Lightning cracked, or was that the door opening? She closed her eyes, biting back a whimper before it could escape her lips. If this was some paid attacker, how would she defend herself?
She only had a bottle of whiskey and a frying pan—and boobs—some warped or perverted part of her brain whispered inside her head.
True.
Kim had boobs. Maybe she could make a deal with the guy? Like, maybe a quick titty flash for letting her go.
Yeah. Right. Brilliant fucking idea.
Cause assassins always wanted to get down and dirty with chubby professors. Okay, that plan was out. Maybe her growly friends outside would come to her rescue and tear the intruder to bits.
Uh huh. That was likely.
Not.
Kim could only hope it was someone who’d made the wrong turn. Any second now, she’d hear the spray of gravel as he or she made a U-turn in the driveway. But, of course, Kimberley had no such luck.
A rough curse escaped what was undoubtedly a masculine pair of lips as the door slammed into the wall. Kim’s breath hitched in her throat. Some help that DPCA agent turned out to be.
Safehouse, my ass.
Kim was entirely on her own. This was it. Her only chance. She held both her breath and the frying pan high over her head. The intruder fumbled with the knob, pulling the door from where it stuck to the sheetrock. She waited for him to turn, a flash of lightning lit up the sky outside, revealing an impossibly huge man dressed all in black.
Definitely a hitman!
The killer still didn’t see her. He’d turned sideways just to fit through the door, and while he was distracted closing it, Kim drew upon all her might. She tried to recall every last thing she’d learned in the self-defense class she’d taken at her local YMCA ages ago, and then she swung.
CLANG!
The resounding sound of the ages old cast-iron skillet meeting with what was either the hardest skull ever known to humankind or, more than likely, a helmet, filled the room.
“Ow! Fucking hell,” the giant fucking hitman grumbled and fell to the floor—like a mountain toppling over.
Another bolt of lightning flashed, and the loudest boom of thunder yet sounded across the sky. Then the power came back, and Kimberley raced to the other side of the room, shrieking in fear.
“Wahhhhhh! Stay back!”
She saw two things the moment her eyes adjusted to the indoor lights. The first thing she witnessed was the man she’d hit with the pan had indeed been wearing a motorcycle helmet, which was now crushed in on one side. The second was a pack of wild coyotes, not dogs, invading the cabin.
Holy fuck, they were bigger, scarier than dogs, and they were pissed. At her. They hardly paid attention to the killer on the floor. All their angry snarling was directed at her.
“Really guys, I’m the victim here!”
“Grrrrrrr,” growled the coyotes.