Newbie Werewolf: The First 8 Adventures of Sara Flores: Sara Flores, the Early Years

PRAISE FOR SUE DENVER

"The more I get to know Sara Flores the more I love her, and she shocked the heck out of me in Curiosity Kills. It was with this line that I knew I loved her: ‘True, it would be more fun to just transform into her wolf and bite people.’

Sara’s seriously got what it takes, and her witty matter-of-fact attitude makes every page an adventure. I wish I could say more without spoilers, but suffice it to say this girl doesn't mess around. The more I read the more I want! This series is a great binge read!

THE INTERNATIONAL REVIEW OF BOOKS

"I love the world that Sue Denver has created in Curiosity Kills. For a short novella, it packs a punch. Native American culture, politics, David and Goliath, and cyber attacks. And then there's Sara, our main character, who embodies a ruthless streak lightened by snarky humor and practical compassion.

"I’d previously read the next story in the series, Betrayal in Oklahoma, and I remember thinking at the time, I wish I had more background on Sara. I'm delighted to say that Sue walks the delicate tightrope of revealing more about Sara's background in Curiosity Kills, yet this is a standalone story, and both can be read in either order. By reading both, we gain a richer perspective without spoilers. Kudos to Sue, that takes talent.

MJ SILVERSMITH, DISCOVERY

NEWBIE WEREWOLF

THE FIRST 8 ADVENTURES OF SARA FLORES

SUE DENVER

All content in this book (except interior cover art) is Copyright © 2021-2022 by Sue Denver, All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

It should go without saying, given this is a book about a werewolf, but just in case(!)… This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Real locales and public and celebrity names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, tribes, events, institutions, or places, is either coincidental or used in a fictional manner.

Published August 16, 2022 by JGF Press, Crossville, TN

CONTENTS

Introduction

Sara Flores’ World

What Are Friends For?

I

II

III

IV

V

A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

I

Choices

I

The Too-Smart Kid

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

Why I Need to Stay Away from Texas

I

II

III

Curiosity Kills

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

A Werewolf at the Zoo?

I

II

III

Werewolf Seeks Lupiti Wisdom

I

II

III

IV

V

Sneak Peak at Sara’s Next Adventure

Free story download

Also by Sue Denver

About the Author

INTRODUCTION

The first time I ever saw a wolf in real life I fell in love. We were on opposite sides of a fence, living in different worlds. But he touched my soul in a way that left me wondering… what would it be like? What if I could remain a human, but also spend time as a wolf? A real wolf.

Through imagination, I became a wolf. With this book, so can you!

These eight paranormal mystery/adventures follow Sara Flores in her first year as a newbie werewolf. She is completely on her own. No helpful mentor. No warnings about dangers. She doesn’t even know what she can and can’t do! All because the Lupiti shaman who changed her had the gall to die 30 minutes later.

Come along for the ride as she struggles with how and when to use her new gifts. What’s the meaning — the mission? — for her new life?

If she decides to help people in trouble — how will she do it? She has no special forces training. No military service. She's an ex-housewife, for crying out loud! Could she learn this stuff on the Internet?

If she goes up against really bad people — will she feel okay killing them? And, if she does, would it be okay to eat them? If they were already dead and she was really, really hungry?

How will she support herself? If some of the bad guys are rich, would it be okay to steal from them — to fund future rescues? How about for a nice house? Is there a limit to how many millions she could take before it might be considered excessive?

Will it be fun? Will she like beating the crap out of evildoers? Walking down dark alleys in town with no fear. Knowing she’s stronger than anyone she meets. Watching the eyes of bullies and would-be rapists when they realize they really, really picked the wrong woman to cross!

Will she like it too much?

And — most important — how can she save victim after victim when it puts her knee deep in their pain? When she'll see again and again the horrible things people are willing to do to others. Will it break her heart? Will she end up with the dead eyes you see in some cops who have witnessed too much?

Sara just knows she has to try — or she’d never forgive herself.

So, come along with me for the journey. But buckle up — it’s a bumpy first year!

Sue Denver

[Hiding out in the forests

of middle Tennessee]

SARA FLORES’ WORLD

WHAT YOU SHOULD KNOW

Sara’s world is our everyday, normal world.

Nobody believes in werewolves, vampires or anything supernatural.

Neither did Sara — until it happened to her(!)

WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR?

THE WOLFLADY ORIGIN SHORT STORY

I

What Are Friends For?

By Sue Denver

Sara Flores buried her friend Joe White Wolf that day, high up on Fremont Peak, outside Canon City, Colorado. In a hole in the ground she dug herself. Even though she knew it was illegal. And knew it could cause her real trouble down the road.

She had to do it. The thought of Joe lying around a morgue for days made her skin crawl. He needed to be at least six feet under the ground, right now. The ground over him tamped down hard. Maybe with some boulders rolled on top of it. Otherwise, who the hell knew what could happen?

Ten years ago, Sara had dumped a house and an ex-husband and came to the Colorado’s Gorge Hills to try life as a hermit. If it was a mid-life crisis, as friends said, then it was a good one. She’d learned how to breathe again in these hills. Big gulping gasps of air, not the constricted mini-breaths of her former life. She chopped wood, learned to repair chinks in her tiny log cabin, and she learned good, honest swearing as she tackled the intricacies of cabin plumbing. Babe, her frisky German Shepherd, was all the company she thought she wanted.

Joe changed her mind about that. He turned out to be her nearest — if two miles is near — neighbor. And over the years he became a choice-father to her — a replacement for her missing birth father. Joe was old, maybe 90s? Maybe 80s? He wouldn’t tell her. He was a full-blooded Lupiti, with a long single snow-white braid down his back.

Joe didn’t talk much, except when they hiked and he pointed out interesting plants. Once, he pointed out hops. They’re used to make beer, he had told her, but they also have anti-microbial properties for infections.

Joe was an avid reader, like her, and he sometimes pointed her to a book. Usually about the Indian Wars. Or plants. Or animals. Joe loved animals. He had a gray wolf-dog named Skidi that followed him everywhere. Who loved to play chase with Babe.

It was a good life, until Joe fell sick in August. He refused medical treatment; said it was his time to go. So Sara spent hours each day feeding him and trying to make him more comfortable.

She found Joe had a whole, separate room she hadn’t seen before. Filled with ancient-looking weapons — knives, bows and spears. And some books that were hand-written, some in English but some in a language with a bunch of double vowels. And weird consonant combinations. Lupiti? Two were on a parchment-looking paper. But one looked to be on, what? Cowhide?

When she arrived at Joe’s house that morning, she saw he’d been reading his cowhide book. Two sections were marked with feathers. His eyes were more sunken, almost black smudged. She moved to the stove and prepared some chicken broth, tossing the meat to Skidi and Babe as Joe had refused solid food for two days now.

She almost dropped the broth when she turned back and saw Joe holding a knife — a thin, dark-metal blade with a red cloth tying it to something that looked like a dog-fang handle. From a very big dog. Joe saw her look, smiled and shook his head.

It’s something I have to do, he told her. Then he used the blade to make several light cuts over his heart. Some kind of design. She got a paper towel and came to him to blot away the blood.

I have to try, he said, almost too soft for her to understand. Then he put his hand on hers. His bloody hand. And he used the knife to nick her hand. Sara tried to jerk back, but he held her wrist long enough to cover the small wound with his bloody hand. Then he let go.

I’m sorry, he said, sounding like he meant it. Then he closed his eyes and wouldn’t respond to anything she said. And, within the hour, he died.

Her hand burned. She looked at it. Then at Joe. The last thing he did in life was to add some of his blood to her blood stream. Why?

II

The next thing she knew, she had his body wrapped in his favorite Pendleton blanket and loaded in the back of her F-150 pickup. She drove up the F30 highway, then the winding 3A, and then she went off road to drive even further. She found a depression with no visibility and started digging. And digging. Past rock after rock, jarring her spade. Down until the hole was as deep as she was tall.

She arranged him as best she could. Put his long, silver braid straight, across his heart. Closed his penetrating, almost-black eyes. She back-filled, tamped the ground hard and rolled the biggest rocks she could find on top.

Finally, she stopped. Caught her breath. Shuffled her feet and realized she had no idea what to do or say next. She didn’t know what death customs he had or what he would have wanted. Only one idea came to her, so she gathered some twigs that looked dry enough and built a tiny fire on the grave. She watched the smoke rise, and raised her hands up through it.

Joe White Wolf was a good man, she said, leaving off the maybe that his actions that day made her want to add. He looked out for people when they needed it. He was a friend to me. May his gods receive him and look out for him — in whatever world he’s gone to. Then she sat and waited by his grave until the flames went out.

Her hand burned for a week, the cut closed but remaining red. The week dragged by as she worried about what Joe had done. She spent that week mostly in his house, reading all his English-language books. The three unusual books — the two on parchment and the one on cowhide — she took to her home. She couldn’t read them. But maybe she could find someone who could translate them.

She semi-adopted Joe’s wolf-dog Skidi, or maybe Skidi semi-adopted her. She fed her and offered her a place in her cabin. But she wouldn’t come inside.

Mainly, Sara waited. For what?

She refused to acknowledge her fears. They were stupid. Or maybe they weren’t. But another week went by.

Then there was a full moon. Boy, if that didn’t scare the crap out of her. She signed in relief when nothing happened. Two more months and two more full moons passed.

Now she was embarrassed about her fears. How could she have actually worried about such a stupid thing? It was November, and her life returned to normal. She even laughed at her previous anxiety.

She was stocking her shelves for the winter with the load of canned goods she’d scored down in Canon City, when she heard a pickup pull into her yard. She looked out the window. Single driver. Male. Short. Long black hair with a hooked nose. Well-worn jeans and a wrinkled shirt.

Sara removed her Walther PPK from her holster, laying it along her right thigh. And stepped out the door.

"Can you help me, ma’am? I’m